


A Series of Little Kindnesses

by Caedmon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Colossal Misunderstandings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Older Man/Younger Woman, Regency Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 108,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Dr. Ian Docherty has managed to avoid romantic entanglements for twenty years, living as a traveling Doctor. But when his family responsibilities call him home, he can’t avoid them any longer.Miss Rose Tyler has lost nearly everything in the last year. Her only hope remaining for her future, she thinks, is to flee to her cousin’s home and find employment there.Thrown together in a coach bound for Scotland, they seem destined for very different lives… Until Dr. Docherty makes her an offer she can't refuse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rose_Nebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Nebula/gifts).



> Welcome to my new multichap! A few notes, before we get started...  
> 1) Happy Birthday to one of my favorite people in the known universe, Rose--Nebula! Love you, Gertrude. <3  
> 2) This fic is listed as being solely my work, but that's grossly misleading. I may have written it, but RishiDiams has directed it, guiding me and pointing me and brainstorming ideas with me. She deserves just as much credit, although she's not willing to take it.  
> 3) This is my first historical. As such, I'm sure I've made tons of mistakes. Some mistakes, such as the use of first names, were intentional. I elected to focus more on the story and its flow than the accuracy, in some cases. But I did try, overall, to be correct. Please think of this as less of a Jane Austen and more of a Johanna Lindsey type of historical.  
> 4) I own nothing - not the BBC, not Doctor Who, none of it. I'm just playing with Auntie Beeb's toys. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done.  
> 5) Last but not least, this fic has been beta'd by the incomparable Tenroseforeverandever. Thank you, darling!

_Lady Donna McAvoy_  
_McAvoy Castle, Scotland_  
_14 June, 1823_

_Dear Ian,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, if it finds you at all. That’s never a guarantee, the way you hop from place to place - and your letters home are so infrequent! If that seems like an admonishment, well, I am glad of it. One day, I hope to shame you into being a good correspondent. It’s my sisterly duty._

_Things here have been well over the past year and four months, since the mourning period for our brother ended and you took off for your travels again. Mr. Jones does an admirable job running the estate in your absence; Gallifrey is doing as well as anyone could expect a ducal estate to do when its lord is absent. I’m quite sure Mr. Jones is looking forward to your return to alleviate some of the burden from his shoulders. When you return, you will likely be pleased with the work he has done for you._

_There has been no change in our family’s status, and as of this moment, the titles you inherited upon Braxiatiel’s death will go to our cousin, Harold Saxon, upon your death, unless you provide an heir. Ian, I don’t think I can properly express to you the level of anxiety such a thought gives me. I know that you and he get on well, at least you did when we were younger, but you’ve spent nearly all of your adult life on the continent or in Africa or even in America. I don’t think you’ve been around enough to see him for what he has become. He is harsh, manipulative, cruel to his lessers, and a master of making himself look like an upstanding man. It’s simply unthinkable that our father’s title would go to such a scoundrel. It is my most fervent wish that you come home, to Gallifrey, and accept your life as the Duke. I know the thought of taking on that mantle of responsibility is daunting, but I’m quite sure that you will rise to the occasion admirably._

_But you really must begin to think about an heir. I’ve been on the lookout for a suitable wife for you, knowing how you’d scorn the slightest mention of attending the season’s balls in Glasgow to find one yourself. You’d have better luck in London, of course, but I dare not mention such a thing. I have, however, kept an eye to the marriage mart with you in mind and managed to find several women I think would do quite well for you. First among them is a widower with a title of her own, albeit a barony, and her name is Lady River Song. Isn’t that whimsical? She’s quite comely, with blonde curls and a bright smile, and I’m certain you’ll like her. She’s a bit brash sometimes, perhaps, but you need someone to keep you in line, and she’d be just the woman to do it! When you come home, I’ll be happy to arrange an introduction to her, as well as to some of my other eligible friends..._

~*~O~*~

18 August, 1823

Ian Docherty, 9th Duke of Gallifrey, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the ruckus of the coaching inn around him as best he could. He’d read the letter in his hands at least fifty times since he received it while he was in Spain three weeks ago, but the content never seemed to change. He was under no illusions that the letter was anything but a politely-worded summons home, even if the person summoning was his younger sister who held no real authority in his life. The fact that she’d been counting the months since he’d shirked his duties to Gallifrey and left to have more adventures told him plenty, as did the fact she’d already lined up at least one prospective bride for him. He’d hoped that while he was gone, his sister would find herself with child and provide an heir, since Ian had made it clear he had no intentions of ever taking a wife and producing one of his own. 

As a second son, not expected to inherit the title, Ian had had the luxury of being able to attend university and become a doctor, then pass his days helping people less fortunate all around the world. His brother, the Duke, had taken over the title when their father died a decade ago, and had done well managing the duchy. Brax had, however, been of the same mindset as Ian - that marriage was an undesirable circumstance to be avoided. In Brax’s case, it _couldn’t_ be avoided, but he’d prolonged the inevitable as long as he could. He had been forty, the same age Ian was now, when he’d met the woman he wanted to wed. The occasion had allowed Ian to rest easier, since it seemed Brax was going to step up to his duties and produce an heir. It was miserable, rotten luck that his brother had fallen off of his horse and broken his neck a week before his long-awaited wedding, leaving the title and the responsibilities of Gallifrey on Ian’s shoulders. 

Once the mourning period for Brax had ended, Ian had flown the coop, so to speak, telling his stunned sister that he only had to tie up a few loose ends and would be back soon. As she noted in her letter, that had been nearly a year and a half ago. 

It really was time for him to go home and take care of the duties he’d neglected - although he still had no intention of settling down and producing an heir. He and Harold, his cousin, had been fast friends as youngsters and he had no problem with his cousin taking the title and the duchy that came with it. It wasn’t like Ian wanted it, anyway, and as for Donna’s complaints about Harold’s worthiness, well, he didn’t think his sister was being _duplicitous_ , really, but she was surely mistaken. Harold Saxon was a fine, upstanding man and would make a superb Duke - much better than Ian himself would. 

But he knew very well that Donna was not going to ease up on the idea of him marrying and producing his own heir. She’d demonstrated that clearly by lining up prospective brides for him, this Lady River Song foremost among them. Ian still had no interest in taking a wife, and no high society lady that his sister could place in front of him would change his mind. _If_ Ian were going to marry, he would do so on his own terms, not because his sister played matchmaker. Honestly, he had no intention of even _meeting_ the women Donna had chosen for him, much less marrying them. 

Ian sighed again. He was being obstinate and he knew it. Maybe he should give a little more weight to the idea of settling down, perhaps even letting Donna play Cupid. Marriage was just part of the life he was taking on as the Duke. Besides, he was a prime catch, now that he’d inherited. He could have his pick of ladies. At forty, he was a bit older than most bachelors, true, but not so old he’d repulse women - at least, he didn’t think so. Settling down is what his parents would have wanted. They had always supported him in his adventures, but lamented that he wasn’t around more and there were no grandchildren. Besides, who knew? With the right woman, marriage could very well be an adventure, though he doubted it. It was more likely to be a slow, torturous hell, but it seemed like he was doomed to matrimony at some point in his future, no matter what. Putting Donna off would only prolong the inevitable. 

There was a shout nearby, then a scream, and he looked up at the mail coach just in time to see a trunk fall off the back and nearly hit a woman. The woman immediately started berating the employee who had been strapping the trunk onto the mail coach, swatting him with her satchel and, seeing that no one was injured, Ian chuckled to himself at the scene. 

The coaching inn he was hiring was one of London’s better establishments from which to hire a private coach, but they did also cater to the public with mail coaches. His private coach to Glasgow was set to depart just after this coach to Cardiff, so he waited and people-watched until it was ready. 

Nardole, his manservant of the last ten years or so, approached him, eyeing the mail coach with his beady eyes. “Everything alright, Doctor?”

“Perfectly fine,” Ian replied easily.

Nardole gave a look to the letter in Ian’s hand. “Regretting your decision to come home?”

He hastily folded up the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. “No. Just bracing myself for whatever hell my sister is about to put me through when I get to Glasgow, in the name of primogeniture.”

“She’s not wrong,” the bald man commented casually. 

Ian gave him a withering look. Nardole had been the most devoted servant Ian had had since he left the comforts of home, but he had a tendency towards impertinence. The man was stout both in body and disposition and felt quite comfortable speaking his mind on any topic whenever he and Ian were alone, much to Ian’s frequent annoyance. He never seriously considered dismissing Nardole, though, regardless of how often he threatened to do so. His manservant had, to put it in vulgar terms, saved his arse more than once over the last decade, and Ian regarded him warmly, as something like a friend. 

That didn’t lessen his annoyance, though. 

“I know my duties all too well,” he snapped. 

Nardole raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, keep your shirt on. I’m just making conversation.”

“Perhaps consider another topic.”

“Of course, sir,” the other man agreed, smug. Ian rolled his eyes. 

At long last, the mail coach was loaded with baggage and passengers. Ian spared a moment of pity for the dispirited-looking horses that must pull such a heavy load, eyeing the people sitting on the inside and outside of the coach. The driver took his seat and, apparently content that everything was in order, slapped the reins lightly across the back of the horses. The coach lurched into motion and within a few moments was gone from the yard. 

Almost immediately, the coach Ian had been waiting for replaced it - this one a bit smaller and clearly more luxurious. The coach itself was black on top, the lower half being a deep maroon. The wheels matched the coach and the whole thing gleamed, as if fresh from a good polish. He knew it would not be long before it was covered in road grit, but he appreciated the effect, for now. The four matching horses on the front seemed livelier than the beasts he’d seen hauling the mail coach, almost eager to start the journey, and it gave Ian hope that they’d make good time. He wasn’t thrilled about ending his adventures and going home, but he _definitely_ wasn’t looking forward to spending the next week in this coach, alone. Nardole had to stay behind to tend to a little business, and while Ian could certainly stay with him, there was no sense in delaying his return to Scotland, since he’d already come so far. He had a job to do there, irritating though it was to think about. So he was going ahead.

“Where are the trunks?” he asked Nardole. 

“No idea, sir. I’ll check.” 

Ian nodded and Nardole left to find the trunks, leaving Ian to wait. His mind went back to Scotland, and the tasks that awaited him there. He’d go to visit Donna for a few days, since he hadn’t seen her in a year and a half and had truly missed her. But he was sure he’d only be able to tolerate a handful of days before he was back on the road, this time on the way to Gallifrey. Once there, he had no idea what he’d be walking into. The letters from the land agent had been reassuring, but he wasn’t entirely sure what all of it meant. He had a lot to learn about estate management, and very little time to learn it in. There wasn’t time for him to fail; he had to get it on the first go. People’s lives depended on him. 

“Excuse me, sir,” came a female voice from behind him. 

Startled, he turned around. A petite, brunette woman stood there, dressed in travelling clothes for the servant class. He was mildly irritated to be pulled from his musings, but curious, so he put on a brittle smile. “Yes?”

The woman indicated his coach. “This coach, it’s going to Scotland, correct?”

“It is.”

“Excellent! I’d like to purchase passage for two, please.”

Ian was amused in spite of himself to be mistaken for an employee, although he probably should have expected as much. His clothes were at least three years old and worn by now, not to mention out of fashion. Still, he hadn’t thought he’d looked all _that_ out of place. In his amusement, he decided to play along for a minute. “You would?”

“Yes,” the young woman nodded. “For myself and Miss Rose Tyler.” She turned to indicate another woman standing behind her whom Ian hadn’t noticed yet. He looked up to see this Miss Rose Tyler, and his breath caught. 

Standing a few feet behind the servant was a young woman, stunningly beautiful. Her blonde hair was tucked up into a pretty teal bonnet which matched her dress, with just a few tendrils framing her frankly gorgeous face. Her mouth was lush and wide and her eyes were topaz. He wondered idly whether they would sparkle when she laughed, then shook himself from the thought. 

She was also dressed in traveling clothes, although hers were of decidedly higher quality than the servant’s, indicating some status. Interestingly, the clothes were just a touch worn, and although Ian had never given more than a passing thought to women’s fashion, the fact that this beautiful creature would be dressed in anything less than the best intrigued him. He wanted to know why. He didn’t dare ask, though: she looked more than a little embarrassed, a flush darkening her porcelain cheeks. 

“Are you alright, m’lady?” he asked kindly. She bit her lip and nodded, her blush climbing. 

“Passage for two, you say?” Ian asked mildly, turning back to the servant, who was obviously speaking on behalf of her lady. 

“Yes. For myself and Miss Tyler.”

Nardole strolled up behind him, catching his attention with an, “All loaded and ready to go, Doctor.”

“Excellent. And it seems I’ll be joined by these two young ladies,” he explained, indicating the two women. “Miss Rose Tyler and…”

“Clara. Clara Oswald.”

“Miss Clara Oswald.”

Nardole looked confused. “But sir, this coach --”

“Is nearly ready to go,” Ian cut him off smoothly then turned with a smile for the women. “Do you have trunks?”

“Just over there,” Clara pointed, indicating a stack of three large trunks off to the side. 

“Excellent,” Ian smiled. “By the by, my name is Ian Docherty and this is my manservant, Nardole. I’ll be joining you in the coach: unfortunately, Nardole has some business to attend to for me, so he won’t be with us. Is that acceptable to you?”

“You’re not the driver?”

“No, merely a passenger.”

Clara looked around the yard. “Then who do I pay to secure passage?”

“That can be settled when we arrive in Glasgow. The coach is about to leave, if you’d care to join?”

Clara turned and gave a questioning look to Miss Tyler, who flushed a little deeper but nodded. His curiosity about her grew. 

“Yes, that will be fine,” Clara told him, turning back with a smile. 

“Very good. If you ladies would like to go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the coach, I’ll oversee the loading of our trunks, and then we’ll be off.”

“Thank you,” Clara said. 

“Yes, thank you,” Miss Tyler agreed, giving him her first smile, and Ian nearly staggered. He’d thought her beautiful before, but when she smiled, her entire face seemed to light up and sparkle like a chandelier. 

The two women went to the coach and climbed inside, Ian watching the blonde the whole way. Nardole was clearly wanting to say something, but he held up a hand to forestall the other man until the door closed behind the women. 

“What are you doing?” Nardole demanded in a low voice.

“A simple kindness,” Ian answered. “Besides, having two other passengers aboard will ease the monotony quite a bit.” 

“But you don’t know anything about these women! They could be --”

“They’re just women, Nardole, who mistook me for an employee of the carriage inn - probably due to my dusty traveling clothes - and asked for transport. Nothing nefarious about that.”

Nardole huffed. “If you say so.”

“Good. Now, don’t forget to settle with my solicitor on Monday and pick up my new stethoscope from Marshall on Thursday. I’ve already booked passage for you to Glasgow on Friday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for staying behind.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir. But Doctor, are you sure about this?”

“About what?”

Nardole tilted his head towards the coach. “The passengers.”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured his manservant. “Worst case scenario, I pretend to be asleep for the next several days.”

“If you say so,” Nardole said again.

“I do.”

“In that case, safe travels.”

Ian took the offered hand and shook it. “Same to you. See you in a couple of weeks.”

“Yes, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

The three passengers made light conversation as they trundled through London on the way out of town, touching on inconsequential subjects. Mr. Docherty, the man Rose and Clara were sharing the coach with, seemed nice enough, but Rose wasn’t ready to reveal her life story to a stranger. Besides, she was still terribly embarrassed that Clara had mistaken him for an employee of the coaching inn and asked for passage. Not that Rose wouldn’t have made the same error, but…

She sighed. Of course she would have made the same error, her mind had been such a maelstrom over the last few months. Being unable to identify someone as a passenger versus an employee was the least of her concerns. Although, on closer inspection, she _should_ have known he was a passenger. His clothes were of the finest quality, although they were a bit dusty from travel and slightly out of the current fashion. Moreover, the man himself didn’t look like a coach driver, with his kind, blue-green eyes, sharp, patrician features and slightly greying hair. Honestly, he looked like a lord of some type, although Rose figured an actual peer of the realm would have been traveling by his own private coach, not a hired one. She’d thought she heard his manservant (Narwhal? Nimnole?) refer to him as ‘Doctor’, which would explain everything. Even though doctors weren’t technically gentry, they were considered gentlemen. That must be it, she figured. 

They had just gotten to the outskirts of London, houses spreading out and becoming farms, when Mr. - _Dr.?_ \- Docherty leaned his head against the side of the coach and fell asleep. Rose watched the passing scenery, lamenting her decision to leave the only home she’d ever known, and sighed again. 

“This is going to work, Rose,” Clara said in a low voice from beside her.

Rose didn’t look up. “I hope you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

That earned a small smile from her and she raised her head. “No, not always, or you’d have spotted that Mr. Docherty was a passenger, not an employee.”

Clara cringed. “You’re right, I mucked that one up a bit.”

Rose patted her hand. “It’s quite alright. I’d have made the same mistake. If only I hadn’t dismissed all the footmen before we left, they could have assisted us.”

“You had to,” Clara cut in. “We needed a clean break. To just disappear. Now we have.”

“It’s not too late to turn back, you know. I know how you hate travelling, the next six days are going to be torture for you. I’ll pay your passage back to London from the first inn we stop at. You could be home tomorrow.”

“London isn’t home for me if you’re not there. No. I won’t hear another word about it. I’m staying with you,” Clara insisted stubbornly. “I told you I’d never leave you and I meant that.”

“But what if we can’t find work together? It’s highly unlikely that anyone will be seeking to hire a governess and a lady’s maid at the same time.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I can do lots of jobs, not just lady’s maid. I’m good with a needle, I could be a seamstress. I’d also make a fine tutor. Used to love to play school teacher when I was a little one. But beyond all that, you may not need to find employment - not if your cousins have anything to say about it.”

“I’m not their responsibility. I’m my own woman, capable of making my own decisions. Besides, taking a post as a governess will protect me. Lord Stone would never consider marrying so far beneath him.”

“He’s never going to _find_ you, Rose. We swore the solicitor to secrecy and paid him handsomely, too. And even if Lord Stone _did_ find you, your cousin would never allow him near you, if that’s not what you wanted.” Rose bit her lip uncertainly and Clara covered her hand with hers. “We got away with it. By the time Lord Stone returns from France, you’ll be long gone and he’ll have no idea where you are. You don’t have to marry him. You’re safe.”

Rose turned and gazed out of the window at the passing countryside, worrying her lip again. If Jimmy Stone found her in Scotland, she had just enough of her dowry left over to book passage to America and set herself up in Boston or New York with a small flat, but she’d have to go alone, without any protection or the promise of a decent job. The money would run out sooner rather than later, and what then? 

She’d been over all the possibilities hundreds of times while she lay awake at night, and this mad idea to flee to Scotland was her best chance. She just hoped Clara was right and she’d escaped Lord Stone, after all.

~*~O~*~

Miss Rose Tyler had seemed anxious when they started their journey out of London, and her responses to his polite conversation about the weather and other mundane topics were a bit stilted. Ian’s suspicion that Clara was a servant was reinforced by her complete silence, and he nearly forgot she was there. After a short time, he’d decided to relieve Miss Tyler of his presence as best he could by feigning sleep. She’d grow comfortable with him over the next six days, he was sure, but if she was still uncertain, the least he could do would be to alleviate her discomfort now. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, doing so was terribly ungentlemanly, but wasn’t able to help it when the two women started talking. Deciding if he knew a bit about her, he’d be better able to draw her into conversation, he’d relaxed his morals just a bit and listened.

And what tantalizing clues he’d heard! He’d been eager to find out more about the young woman before, but what he’d overheard left him rabidly curious. It seemed she was fleeing a proposed marriage to some Lord Stone, and running to her cousins in Scotland. Her speech and mannerisms proclaimed her of noble birth, although she didn’t have a title attached to her name that he could discern - not that he’d given his own. Nor did there seem to be anyone to look after her in London. In fact, it seemed the only person she had was her maid, Clara, plus the hope that her nameless cousins would take her in and help her find employment. 

Ian wondered about the relationship between the two women on the bench in front of him. They seemed very close, closer than most employee/servant relationships: Clara was certainly open with Miss Tyler to the point of impertinence. At the same time, though, Clara seemed exceptionally devoted. Not many maids would cast their lot with a young woman fleeing marriage to another country with no real prospects. Perhaps Clara was the _reason_ Miss Tyler was fleeing marriage? No, that didn’t make sense. If they were having a clandestine affair of some sort, there was no reason it couldn’t continue despite Miss Tyler finding a suitable husband. Ian was aware of more than one woman who had done just that. No, there must be some other reason the young woman didn’t want to marry Lord Stone. He resolved to find out over the six-day journey. 

He watched her covertly for a few moments, taking in the dips and curves of her face, the way her hair tucked behind her ear neatly. He let the silence drag for a bit, then decided to try and draw her out again. She was looking out the window at the passing scenery, seemingly engrossed in her own thoughts.

“So you’re travelling to Glasgow?”

Miss Tyler looked up as if startled. “Yes.”

“Is that your final destination, or merely a stop along the way?”

“It’s my destination - for now. I’m going to visit with my cousin and his wife, the Earl of Prentice.”

Ian tried to call the name to mind, but failed. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name. Although Scotland is my home, I haven’t spent much of my time there in many years.”

“You’ve been traveling?”

“Yes, for the majority of the past two decades.”

The corner of her wide mouth quirked up. “That’s quite a long tenure for a grand tour, Mr. Docherty.”

He grinned in response to her teasing. “Yes, that _would_ be a long tour. I won’t deny having the time of my life in my travels, but I was actually working.”

“Working?”

“Yes, in a sense. I’m a doctor, and I’ve been traveling to areas that needed me, offering help and guidance where I could.”

Miss Tyler looked impressed and Ian was chuffed in spite of himself. “I had heard your manservant… Mr. Nad-something?”

“Nardole.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’d heard him call you ‘doctor’ and wondered if I heard correctly.”

Ian debated revealing his actual title to her, but decided to keep that bit of information to himself for now. She seemed to be warming a bit, but if she was still skittish, it might exacerbate her anxiety if she found out he was a duke. He certainly didn’t want that - besides, he’d sworn to himself when he’d inherited that he’d be more than just his title. No, he was going to keep the fact that he was a duke under wraps. For now. Until she was more comfortable with him.

“You heard correctly,” he assured her with a smile. 

To his relief, she smiled back. Good. She’d teased him a little about his Grand Tour and was now smiling at him. All good. He did his best to ignore the way that smile affected him and made him want more. 

“Have you ever been to Glasgow?” he asked to keep the conversation going.

Miss Tyler shook her blonde head. “No. I’ve never really left London before today, actually.”

Ian raised a brow. “Never?”

“Not really, not to speak of. My father was in business and traveled quite a bit, but my mother and I stayed behind.”

“That’s a shame,” he said with genuine regret. Travelling was his favorite thing to do and he was always saddened when people didn’t get to see more than their own little corner of the world. 

“You must have seen amazing things,” Miss Tyler said. “Tell me, what’s your favorite place you’ve visited?”

He didn’t want to talk about himself, he wanted to learn more about Rose Tyler, but perhaps the more he opened up, the more comfortable she’d become with him. It was worth a shot, anyway. 

“It’s hard to pick a favorite out of nearly two decades of travel,” he hedged. “Although some places were certainly more memorable and enjoyable than others.”

“Where is the last place you visited? Where are you coming from?”

“Barcelona, actually, so not too far away.”

“Seems like a world away,” she marveled, and he had the sudden, mad urge to offer to take her there.

He blinked and thought of something else to say - something besides taking her hand and whispering ‘run’.

“You mentioned your father was in business. What does he do?”

“He was the creator of a health drink, Vitex. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t,” he was relieved to say. It had been his experience that most ‘health tonics’ were little more than snake oil, but he certainly wasn’t about to tell her _that_. 

“No, I expect not if you’ve been traveling the world,” Miss Tyler said with a gentle smile, and Ian felt like he’d been granted a reprieve. 

“So your father - his business is successful?”

Miss Tyler’s face fell. “It was, but he passed away. Carriage accident.”

Ian had suspected something like this, but schooled his features to look surprised and saddened, anyway. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Hopefully he had a business partner…?”

Her face hardened at once. “He did. Lord James Stone.”

Ah. The pieces of her puzzle were falling into place, and the picture on top was becoming a bit clearer. Deciding not to pursue that avenue directly, not just yet, he tried to think of a way to bring up her mother. Finally, he settled on, “Your mother and you had other family to turn to, I presume.”

“My mother’s father was the 6th Earl of Prentice. He passed when I was a baby, and my uncle became the Earl. Shortly after my father’s death, my uncle passed away, as well, and my cousin became the Earl. He and his wife are the last of my family and they’re who I’m travelling to see.”

So she _was_ gentry, just without a title. Interesting. “Your mother?”

“Passed away this past winter. I’m only just now emerging from mourning.” 

Ian frowned. This poor creature truly had no one else, save a cousin that may or may not be willing to take her in and protect her from a marriage she didn’t want and help her find work as a governess. No wonder she was so anxious. The very thought of what she’d been through was serving to give _him_ anxiety. 

Miss Tyler seemed to shake off the distressing subject, tossing her head and smiling. “Enough about my woes. What brings you back home, after all this time?”

Ian still wasn’t ready to reveal that he was a duke, particularly not after the hard-luck tale she’d just told. Eventually, yes, because he found he didn’t want to lie to this young woman, but not just yet. 

He gave her a tight smile. “Family duty. My sister all but demanded my return to tend to business.”

She smiled a little wistfully. “I imagine it’s a joy and a trial, having a sister. Or a brother, for that matter. I always wanted a sibling: unfortunately, I was an only child.”

“I was the middle of three. My brother, Braxiatel, was the oldest by three years, so he and I were close. My sister, Donna, was a surprise to my parents when I was eleven.”

“Braxiatel. That’s quite a unique name, I’ve never heard it before.”

“Well, his given name was Irving and his middle name Braxiatel, but he despised ‘Irving’ from a young age, so my parents started calling him Braxiatel. He liked that better, but he was more commonly known as ‘Brax’.”

“Did it suit him?”

Ian smiled fondly, remembering his brother. “Oh, yes. Irving wouldn’t have suited him at all. Brax was a much better fit.”

Miss Tyler hesitated for a moment. “You’re speaking of your brother in the past tense. I assume he’s…”

“He passed away. Fell from a horse a week before he was to be married.”

She looked as if she were going to lean forward and place her hand over his comfortingly: he wished she would.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. 

“It’s quite alright,” he assured her. “We were close as children, but had grown somewhat distant while I traveled. He saw me as shirking my responsibilities and wanted me to come home. Said there were plenty of sick people in Scotland to tend to. When he died… well, I wasn’t quite ready to take on the responsibility he left behind, so I left, telling my sister I’d be back in a few months. That was a year and a half ago.” Ian gave a wry smile. “Over that time, my sister’s letters grew increasingly insistent that I return home, until I acquiesced.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have you home.”

“I assume so, although I’m certain I’ll get an earful about leaving to begin with.”

Miss Tyler gave a little smile. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“No, maybe not. I fervently hope not, anyway.”

Outside the coach window, widespread farms became little villages, and then just before sunset, the crowded houses and busy streets of a small town. Ian was looking forward to a chance to stretch his legs after sitting all day, but he’d enjoyed passing the time talking with Miss Tyler. He hadn’t meant to speak about himself quite as much as he had, but found she was just so easy to converse with, that talking about Brax and Donna had happened naturally. It occurred to him to invite her to take dinner with him, but he resisted. She was likely tired, and besides, inviting her to eat with him was a bit forward. Perhaps he would another night on the journey, as they got to know each other better. 

When they stopped at the inn, Ian supervised the removal of Miss Tyler’s trunks as well as his own, then escorted her and Clara inside the inn and bade them goodnight. A few hours later, when he turned in himself, he was surprised to realize that he was rather looking forward to the rest of the journey.


	3. Chapter 3

19 August, 1823

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Rose woke to Clara bringing in the breakfast tray, then bustling around the room impatiently, waiting for her to rise. She was reluctant to leave her cozy bed, but got up with a sigh and a smile, wrapping her dressing gown around herself and going over to the little table where the breakfast tray sat. 

“Sit, Clara,” she instructed as she took her own seat. “Eat with me.”

The maid sighed. “Rose…”

“What, you intend to go hungry?” Rose challenged with a raised eyebrow. “if you say you do, I’ll throw something at you.”

“I can get something from the kitchen before we leave, when I pick up a basket for luncheon to go with us.”

“Yes, but it won’t be as good as this. I doubt they’ll be giving you scones with cherry preserves, now will they?”

Clara looked over at the tempting food, then sighed and gave up. “Oh, alright. I’ll eat a bite.”

Rose sat back in her chair, smug and victorious, when Clara took a seat across from her and picked up a scone. The two ate in relative silence for a while, just enjoying the meal, while thoughts tumbled around in Rose’s mind. 

“How are you finding the trip?” she asked. “I know how you hate to travel.”

“I’m alright. The roads haven’t been too bumpy, which has helped. Don’t worry about me, though.”

Rose couldn’t help it. Clara was her friend and worrying about her comfort came naturally. But she accepted that Clara was unlikely to complain, no matter how miserable she was, and let the subject drop. “We’re one day closer to Scotland,” she mused, her feelings just as mixed as they always were. 

“And one day farther away from Lord Stone,” Clara pointed out.

Rose nodded agreement. “Yes, we are. The coach seems to be making good time. I’m grateful for that.”

Clara gave her a shrewd look. “You seem to be _having_ a good time, as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were chattier with Dr. Docherty than I’ve seen you in months and months. Since before your mother took ill.”

Rose flushed a little. “Well, he _is_ very easy to talk to.”

“Seems to be,” Clara said with an impertinent eyebrow raised. “You certainly did enough talking with him yesterday.”

“I didn’t make a fool of myself, did I?” Rose asked, her hand going up to cover her chest in sudden mortification. 

“No, no,” Clara soothed, shaking her head. “I’m only teasing. I think you’ve been perfectly proper.”

“You don’t think I’m pestering the poor man?”

“Not at all. In fact,” the maid said with a knowing grin. “I think he rather enjoys your company.”

Rose snorted indelicately, a sound her mother would have disapproved of intensely - and that Rose would never make in front of anyone but Clara. “I doubt that. He’s so well-traveled… think of all the people he’s likely met! I’m sure he sees me as just some silly girl he has to endure for the length of this journey.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Clara disagreed. “I think he’s rather pleased to have us sharing a coach with him. But Rose, I feel compelled to caution you...” 

“What?”

“Mind how much you share with Dr. Docherty. We don’t know him… he could be unpleasant, or a scoundrel of the worst sort, or anything, really. But he may not be a good man.”

“Oh, pish posh. We don’t know him, but I don’t sense anything nefarious from him.”

“I don’t either,” Clara admitted, “but we can’t know that until we spend more time around him and learn a bit more about him.”

Rose smiled indulgently. “Very well, Clara. I promise not to spill my entire life’s story, dreams, and ambitions to Dr. Docherty until I know him better. Does that set your mind at ease?”

Clara scowled at her. “You and your wise mouth.”

“You love it,” Rose answered, then put her tongue out when Clara rolled her eyes. They both giggled, then Rose asked, “Do you think we’ll pick up any more passengers today?”

“It’s possible. Hopefully not many, though. It’s not a big coach, more than one or two more people will make things crowded.”

Personally, Rose hoped they didn’t take on any more passengers at all. She was fairly comfortable with Dr. Docherty now, adding new people to the mix would mean she’d have to start all over getting to know someone. It was weak reasoning not to want more passengers, she knew, but, well, it was all she could come up with to describe how she felt. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. She just knew she wanted to keep things as they were, calm and comfortable, until they reached Glasgow and her life changed forever. 

_That_ was a sobering thought, and the smile slid off her face. 

“Rose? Are you quite well?”

“I’m fine,” she rallied with a new, forced smile. “Just thinking about all the changes we’re about to be faced with.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clara said in a bolstering voice Rose had grown very accustomed to since her mother had taken ill over a year ago. “You’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Rose agreed idly, because it was expected of her.

Clara nudged Rose’s hand beside her plate. “Go on, then. Finish up your breakfast so we can get you dressed for the day.”

She looked down at the half-eaten scone and her stomach rumbled unpleasantly. Five days. Five days and she’d be in Glasgow, looking for a post. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Her maid looked at her with entirely too much wisdom and understanding in her eyes before she nodded and got to her feet. “Right, then. Let’s get you ready. How about the lavender day dress? It does lovely things for your skin.”

Rose smiled weakly, not really feeling it, her mind still on Glasgow and the future that awaited her - and _not_ on how becoming her dress was. “Sounds good.”

~*~O~*~

Dr. Docherty was waiting for her and Clara when they got to the loading yard a little less than an hour later. He had his back to them, surveying the coach, but looked up when the inn’s footman passed him carrying Rose’s trunk. When he caught sight of Rose, he smiled, and his whole face transformed, looking much younger. Rose felt a swoop in her belly she didn’t quite understand and gasped a little, almost inaudibly. Dr. Docherty didn’t seem to notice. His blue-green eyes crinkled with pleasure and he stepped forward, his hand extended to take hers. 

“Good morning, Miss Tyler. You look lovely today.”

“Thank you, Dr. Docherty, and good morning to you.”

He tsked a little. “I’d like if you’d call me Ian, or even Doctor, if you prefer. I like to think we’re becoming friends.”

She flushed a little. “Yes, of course. I’ll do my best to remember. But only if you’ll call me Rose?”

His eyes twinkled. “It would be my honor.” He glanced away for just a moment, towards the coach, then back to her. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did,” she told him with a smile. “The bed really was quite comfortable. And you?”

“Like a baby. Are you ready for another day of traveling?”

“Yes, very.”

The trunks were loaded quickly, and Ian helped Rose into the coach. Her belly swooped again and there was an odd fluttering in her chest when he offered his hand to her, but Rose managed not to let on that anything was amiss. Just nerves about traveling, she supposed. 

Clara had advised her to bring along something to do in her reticule, so she’d brought embroidery and a book. Knowing that embroidery was the more ladylike pursuit when in mixed company, even if it wasn’t her favorite pastime, Rose reluctantly pulled out her hoop, needles, and floss to work on. 

Ian seemed to be thinking along those lines, as well, because he pulled a book from his bag and started to read. Rose took a minute to admire the way he looked in his spectacles - somehow, they just seemed _right_ on him - and tried not to let the fact that he’d brought a distraction along bother her. Hadn’t she done the same? She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a nuisance of herself the day before and now he was trying to avoid her company. That irrational concern was put to rest when he looked up over the top of his book and caught her watching him, then gave her a warm smile. She flushed at being caught but smiled back, then returned to her project. 

They passed the morning in companionable silence until Rose’s stomach growled audibly and Clara brought out the basket she’d had packed at the inn for luncheon. The meal was pleasant, but Rose dreaded going back to embroidering. She’d never been terribly good at it, and felt like her eyes were going to cross with boredom if she had to apply another stitch right now. Instead, ignoring Clara’s frown, she dug out the book she’d brought and opened it up. She’d barely read a paragraph when Ian spoke up. 

“What are you reading? Anything interesting?”

“A biography of Queen Elizabeth.” His eyebrows shot up behind his spectacles and she felt a little thrill of dread, expecting a set-down. “What?”

“Nothing. That’s just not what I expected you to say.”

It was Rose’s turn to raise an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. “What did you expect, if I might be so bold?”

“I assumed you’d be reading a gothic novel - aren’t they all the rage right now?”

She nodded. “Yes, they are, and I’ve read nearly all I could get my hands on. I do enjoy them very much, but I never feel especially… _enlightened_ when I read them. Does that make sense? Only entertained. I like to feel like I’m learning when I read, as well as enjoying myself.”

Ian looked impressed. “That’s a rather unusual attitude for a young lady to take.”

She felt suddenly sheepish. “I know, and my mother used to tell me it wasn’t at all proper. I’d give myself airs and graces, she said.”

He regarded her carefully for a minute. “You don’t seem like the type of woman who is prone to fits of airs and graces.”

“I like to believe I’m not,” Rose answered with a tongue-touched smile. Just then, Clara cleared her throat quietly from beside her, and the smile fell. She was dancing on the line of impropriety, and was grateful her maid was there to pull her back before she’d made a fool of herself. Honestly, what had gotten into her? She knew better; she’d been raised to be a lady, even if she didn’t have a title. 

She shook her head to clear it and put the smile back on, this one more polite. “Will you be staying with your sister when you get to Glasgow?”

Ian blinked once, possibly thrown off by the abrupt change of subject, but rallied quickly. “Yes, although I’m not entirely sure she’ll be in residence at her Glasgow home. She usually is during the season, but she may very well be at her estate. I do hope she’s in town, though; that will save me a couple days of travel before I make my way to my own home in Gallifrey.”

She was surprised. “Your sister has an estate?”

He smiled. “My sister Donna is the Marchioness of McAvoy.”

Rose gaped a little. She’d heard that name, through correspondence with Osgood, her cousin’s wife. “ _She_ is your sister?”

“You’ve heard of her?”

“She’s the grand dame of Glasgow society,” Rose marveled. “Nearly all her balls turn into crushes.”

Ian laughed. “I’m not at all surprised to hear that. In fact, I’m almost certain she’ll want to throw a ball because I’m home, although she’ll know I’m not interested in any such thing. If she does, I’ll make sure you and your cousins are invited.”

“I’m not… that is to say… I didn’t know…”

He was giving her a curious look. “You didn’t know what?”

“I apologise, Dr. Docherty, I wasn’t trying to garner an invitation.”

“I never thought you were, merely that you may enjoy a night of frivolity after being trapped in a coach with a grumpy old man for six days.”

Rose tittered a little. “I don’t know any grumpy old men, certainly not in this coach.”

Clara elbowed Rose in the side then, hard enough to make her jump, and Ian took notice. His smile faded and he looked away for a moment, settling back in his seat while Rose did her best not to burst into flames. What on Earth was _wrong_ with her?

“You may think differently after the next four and a half days,” he said. Rose wanted to tell him that she was sure she wouldn’t, but she could _feel_ Clara’s eyes boring into her, so she just nodded. 

“If you’re not interested in attending a ball, I’d like to at least arrange an introduction for you and your cousins, if they don’t already know each other. I think you and Donna would get along famously, were you to ever meet.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” 

Ian looked to be debating something for a minute, and Rose adjusted her book in her hands, trying to decide if the conversation was over or not. When he spoke, it took her by surprise.

“This evening, when we reach the inn, would you care to have dinner with me?”

Rose was taken completely aback and had no idea what to say or do. Her instinct was to shout, ‘yes!’, but that wouldn’t be at all proper. She looked over at Clara for guidance, whose eyes were wide but there was something else there, something knowing. 

“I…”

“You’re welcome to say no, of course, I simply thought you may enjoy company and conversation when you take your evening meal, rather than doing so in your room, alone.”

She glanced over at Clara again, hoping for some direction, and noted her maid looked pleased with herself. Clara darted her eyes to Rose and gave a tiny nod.

Rose turned back to Ian, smiling. “Yes,” she told him. “I’d love to have dinner. So kind of you to ask.”

“The pleasure is mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

22 August, 1823

Rose touched her hair in the mirror, accidentally undoing what Clara had just been working on. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Clara admonished her, her lip quirked up around the pins in her mouth. “Honestly. You’re like a worm in hot ashes tonight.”

“I am not,” Rose protested feebly, willing herself to be still and look offended by Clara’s accurate assessment of her nervousness. 

“You are,” Clara shot back. “Now be still.”

Rose did her best to hold still, not wanting to give her maid any more fodder to tease, but within a minute, was squirming again. 

Clara sighed heavily. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you fancied this man.”

She felt that swooping sensation again that had become so familiar over the last few days, but did her best not to give any outward sign. “Don’t be preposterous. I’m only worried about doing something improper.”

The other woman pulled a pin from her mouth and jabbed it at a curl in Rose’s hair. “And I told you, you’re not doing anything untoward.”

“But --”

“Honestly, Rose, you’re worrying too much. Having dinner with a gentleman in a public place where no one knows you is not going to compromise or ruin you. As long as you stay in the public areas, you’ll be fine. And even if it _did_ compromise you,” Clara talked over Rose when she tried to interrupt, “the damage is done now, since you’ve been meeting with him for dinner the last three nights. So why not relax and enjoy it?”

Rose nodded, accepting this, but her mind still reeled. She couldn’t possibly tell Clara that ruination was only a minor concern, not when she couldn’t articulate her own thoughts to herself. 

“Besides,” Clara went on, “I don’t think this particular gentleman is the type to be compromising young ladies for sport. He’s been perfectly proper with you so far.”

That was true, he had been, and Rose didn’t think he was the sort to try to compromise her, either. And Clara was right again, Ian had been a perfect gentlemen in all their interactions. But that wasn’t where her anxiety lay. She wasn’t exactly sure where it _was_ coming from, but she was sure she didn’t suspect Ian of foul intent. He was much too honorable. 

As if reading her thoughts, Clara laid a hand on Rose’s shoulder and said gently, “What’s _really_ got you worried? Is it arriving in Glasgow tomorrow?”

Rose sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t quite sort out what I’m thinking. Yes, arriving tomorrow is a bit unsettling. I have no idea what Fergus is going to say about the situation I find myself in. But I believe my concern is just that I’ve never socialized with a gentleman, not really. Not unless you count that scoundrel, Lord Stone.”

“And I don’t,” Clara said emphatically. “But Dr. Docherty is no Lord Stone. And the two of you have been getting along famously. Why do you think tonight would be different?”

It was a very valid point, one Rose hadn’t considered, and it eased her mind a bit. She smiled. “You’re right,” she said, feeling herself relax a little. “I’m being silly.”

Clara went back to work on her hair. “You have a lot on your mind right now. You’re allowed to be a little silly.” She worked for a minute or so until she was apparently satisfied. “There,” she said. “You look lovely. And if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Rose teased with a smile, getting to her feet and sketching a curtsey. 

The maid ignored her cheek and walked her to the door, offering some final advice. “Just be yourself. He seems to like you rather a lot. You never know what could happen.”

Rose scoffed. “You’re so sure he fancies me.”

“I am.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked him outright if he does.”

“Time will tell if I’m right or not. For tonight, though, just relax and enjoy a nice meal out of the coach and this stuffy room. You deserve it.”

Rose nodded, then hesitated at the door. “Are you sure I look alright?”

“Go, you daft thing,” Clara laughed, giving Rose a gentle push. Rose smiled at her as if she’d been joking, too anxious to laugh, then left the room and closed the door behind her. 

On the way to the dining room, Rose did her best to remember everything she’d been taught about proper behavior as a child. She let her mother’s voice play in her head: reminders to keep her back straight and shoulders back, not to eat too much or laugh too loudly. Focusing on elocution and propriety helped soothe her jangling nerves, so she kept it up. 

Ian was waiting for her in the lobby at the bottom of the staircase, and she relaxed a little when she saw him. Really, this was no bogeyman, this was Ian, and they’d grown quite close over the last five days in the coach. She truly was being ridiculous. 

When he turned and caught sight of her, a smile spread across his whole face and she felt that swooping again, like she’d missed a stair on the way down. She hadn’t missed a stair, but she was currently gaping like an idiot, so she shook herself mentally and returned his smile. 

“Good evening,” he greeted her when she reached the bottom of the staircase. 

“Good evening,” she returned, feeling a little jittery again. 

“Shall we?” he turned around, offering his elbow to her. Once her hand was in his arm, he started towards the dining room slowly, Rose walking along beside him. 

He led her to a table, and Rose was relieved to see that, once again, he’d taken her reputation into consideration. The table was in the middle of the room, in full view of everyone. He held out her chair, and once she was seated, went to his side of the table and took his seat. Within moments, they’d been brought glasses of wine and the innkeeper had arrived to take their order. 

Before long, the innkeeper had left and they were alone. Nerves overtook her again, and she looked all around the room at the other diners. There seemed to be several ladies dining with gentlemen, and she took some heart in that, reminding herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong at all. 

“So tell me, Rose, what are your plans when you get to Glasgow tomorrow? Will you be joining the social whirl? I understand it’s in full swing right now.”

Rose flushed a little. “No. I’m going to be looking for work, hopefully as a governess.”

He looked surprised. “A governess? Why would you need to find work?”

Her circumstances were humiliating, but they had shared so much of themselves over the last few days, she didn’t really see the harm in telling him the truth. 

“It’s a long story…”

“My entire evening is at your disposal.”

Rose nodded a little, sighing to herself. Then she started, before she lost her nerve. “As you know, my mother was the daughter of an earl. She married for love instead of title, a tradesman, and she never looked back that I know of. But she made my father promise that I’d be raised as a lady. Although she’d married down, she wanted me to be able to marry up, if I wished.”

“That’s understandable.”

“My father agreed, but insisted that I be taught to run the business, in case anything ever happened to him. My mother was reluctant, but finally gave over. So I was taught everything I’d need to know as a lady, so I could marry a gentleman with a title if I wished, but I was also taught the business as well, so I could take care of myself if need be.”

He looked impressed. “That’s unusual, but commendable. You actually learned both?”

She nodded. “I did. It turned out I had a good head for figures and what my father called ‘sound business acumen’ so the trade side came naturally to me.” Rose grinned sheepishly. “Elocution was a bit more difficult to master.”

“You seem to have learned well enough.”

“Thank you, my mother would be pleased to hear that.”

“You’re quite welcome. But forgive me, I interrupted you. Please tell me how it came to be that you’re looking for a post as a governess?”

Rose took a breath. “My father was doing well for himself on his own, but he was always looking for an opportunity to expand his business. He got that when I was about fifteen and a young viscount named James Stone approached him about becoming a business partner. The two of them worked together to grow Vitex, and business boomed. Lord Stone expressed interest in marrying me when I became of age, and my father was delighted with the match. To his mind, that was the best of both worlds. I’d be marrying up by marrying a man with a title, but I’d still be able to run the business - even if it were from behind the curtain, so to speak. Marrying Lord Stone seemed like an ideal solution and an inevitability.”

Ian was giving her a shrewd look. “And how did you feel about this ‘ideal solution’?”

“I was flattered, I suppose, and willing to go along with it as my duty. Sad that I’d never have a season or anything like that, but I figured I’d get over it. Then my father died in a carriage accident just before I was eighteen, as I told you before.”

“You did, I’m so sorry. What happened then?”

“My mother and I were in deep mourning for a while, and trusted that Lord Stone would look over the business and our affairs so Vitex wouldn’t fail. Our allowance grew smaller with each month, but we didn’t even notice for a while. When we asked Lord Stone about it, he indicated that it was nothing to worry about, just an economic downturn, but everything would be back to roses again soon. Then my mother took ill just before her year of mourning was up.”

Rose took a deep breath to steady herself. Ian waited patiently. After a moment to control her rampaging emotions, she started again. “Once my mother took ill, that took up all of our attention. I was too preoccupied to pay much attention to whether or not we were getting what we were supposed to. Lord Stone said he’d take care of everything, and we believed him. The bills seemed to be getting paid, and that was all I had the energy to care about right then. Then my mother died, this past February.”

“You had mentioned before. My condolences.”

“Thank you. Nearly as soon as the funeral was over, while I was still early in my mourning, Lord Stone started pressuring me to marry him. I refused him, of course, if for no other reason than because I was in no emotional state to marry. But one night, when I couldn’t sleep, it occured to me that I hadn’t looked at our family’s accounts, and I should likely do that. So I went down to my father’s study and looked at all the bills that had been piling up, the account books that had been neglected, and the bank statements I’d been ignoring. I stayed up all night, and it was early afternoon before I had everything figured out. 

“Lord Stone had nearly robbed us blind after my father died and while my mother was ill. There were only a few thousand pounds left out of what had been tens of thousands when my father was alive, and most of that was supposed to be my dowry - not living expenses. I was furious and heartbroken and didn’t know what to do.”

Ian looked livid. “I could kill him.”

Rose smiled gently. “I could have, too, but managed to calm down before he came around again. When he did, I told him what I had discovered, and that I knew he had robbed us. He didn’t deny it. He told me that I could have it all back - all of the stolen money would be at my disposal - if I simply married him.”

“He didn’t.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rose nodded. “He did. I refused, and he laughed. Said he’d decided I’d ‘do’ as a wife and he was determined to have me. I told him I was equally determined not to marry such a…” She hesitated before she swore and said something improper. 

“A bastard,” Ian supplied, reading her mind.

“I was going to say an unscrupulous man,” she lied with a tiny smile. “He insisted, and came back every day, still demanding I marry him. He threatened to post the banns, or to compromise me and force me into marriage. Finally, I convinced him that I would think about it, but I wouldn’t be willing to do anything until after my mourning ended. He seemed to accept that as my agreement to marry him, although I was scheming to get out of it. He had to go to France on business, and my mourning would be ending soon after he left. So Clara and I hatched this plan to go to Scotland, to my cousin Fergus, and find employment here. I’m banking that if he finds out I’ve been working, he’ll consider me too far beneath him to marry and he’ll leave me alone.”

Ian was looking at her curiously. “I don’t entirely understand your reasoning. Why not just find another husband? Someone more to your liking?”

Rose gave a sad smile. “I thought about that, and it makes sense, but I’m afraid time is a concern. He was supposed to return to England in about a month, and it’s already been nearly two weeks. I couldn’t possibly find a husband and marry in time for him to be thwarted. Even if I managed to find someone willing to marry me, who’s to say that he wouldn’t show up and produce a fake document saying I was betrothed to him or something? No man would believe me over the word of a gentleman. No, I’m going to have to go to work.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, and the thoughts of what she was giving up: marriage, a family, everything she’d ever dreamed of.

“And that’s okay,” she said bravely. “I’ve made my peace with it. I’ll do nearly anything, so long as I don’t have to marry him. I’ll make a good governess, I think. My mother made sure I had the best tutors, so I’m well-educated and can conduct myself like a lady. Someone will hire me,” she finished, trying yet again to reassure herself. 

Ian was quiet for a long while, and Rose grew more uncomfortable the longer the silence stretched. She’d almost certainly shared too much, she should never have revealed so much about herself to him, but the words had just erupted out of her. She hadn’t told anyone other than Clara about what had been happening, not even Fergus or Osgood knew, and --

“I’d believe you,” he said quietly, and Rose was taken off-guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’d believe what you told me over the word of another gentleman. Without question.”

Rose felt herself flush bright red, terribly pleased with what he’d said.

“You would?”

“I would. I’m sorry all of this has happened to you, Rose. I’d fix it if I could.”

She shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. “It’s alright. My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected, but it’s not all bad. Truly. I’m not upset about this new circumstance,” she told him, wishing that speaking words would make them true. 

Ian seemed to ponder for a moment, then said, “If that’s true, then I’m happy for you. And either way, I’m terribly proud of you for facing down such a difficult situation with courage and dignity. In fact, you may be the bravest person I know.”

Rose gave a weak smile. “I’m not sure I believe that, but thank you. That means a lot.”

The food arrived and the two tucked into the meal, sticking to lighter subjects while they ate. They discussed Ian’s travels abroad, and he entertained her with a story about hopping for his life that left her giggling so much she worried about being proper, after all. Despite her spilling her life story, the evening turned out to be pleasant and fun. 

After dinner he escorted her to her room, as he had every evening, and bade her good night. Clara was smug as she prepared Rose for bed, but it didn’t bother her. Her head was full of the wonderful but surprising time she’d had on this journey, and a fact she’d noticed a couple days before: that since she’d met Ian, her burden seemed to be lighter somehow. Nothing about her situation had changed, but being able to share with someone besides Clara was a huge relief. Beyond that, Ian seemed to be able to make her forget about her troubles while they spent time together. 

As she sank into the bed and drifted to sleep, it occurred to her that she was still dreading the conclusion of this journey tomorrow, but not entirely for the reason she had been. 

She was going to miss Ian.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!! <3

23 August, 1823

It was just past noon when the coach rolled into Glasgow and the sun was shining brightly. Rose had seemed less at ease as the buildings got closer and closer together, until now, she was pale and near silent, her hands folded neatly in her lap while she gazed out of the window at nothing in particular. After their conversation last night at dinner, Ian now understood her situation much better, and felt the utmost sympathy and admiration for her. No matter how things turned out for her, she was in the midst of a major life upheaval, unable to ever go back to the only home she’d ever known. She didn’t say anything, though, just sat quietly and watched the buildings and other coaches pass, sometimes turning to give a small smile to Clara when the maid would pat her hand reassuringly. 

Ian couldn’t help the odd stab of jealousy he felt that Clara should be her comfort. He thought he might like to fill that role himself, but he supposed in times of crisis, people tended to turn to their loved ones for comfort - and he was becoming more and more convinced that Clara and Rose were definitely ‘loved ones’ to each other. They reminded him a great deal of the way his housekeeper and upstairs maid, a self-proclaimed 'married couple', treated one another.

Ian wasn’t exactly thrilled to be back in Glasgow, himself. With the exception of occasional journeys from Gallifrey to Glasgow and back, his arrival today marked the end of his days of travelling. His duty was to his home now, and he needed to shoulder the responsibility he’d been left. 

But as much as he was disappointed that his vagabond days were behind him, he was even more disappointed that his time with Rose was at an end. The last six days had been wonderful, and he felt closer to her than he’d felt to anyone in many years. These were the last few moments he’d get with her, and he was greedy for her attention, her smile. He’d spend the next couple of days visiting with his sister, likely arguing with her, and then he’d make his way to start his lonely existence at Gallifrey. Rose would be searching for and starting work as a governess, with Clara beside her. Their paths were unlikely to cross, after today. 

The very thought was distressing, and he did his best to put it aside, turning a smile to Rose. 

“Are you excited to see your cousin again?”

She gave him a tight, polite smile that didn’t reach her anxious eyes. “Yes, it will be good to see Fergus. And I’m hopeful that his wife, Osgood, and I can become friends now.”

“You weren’t acquainted before?”

“Yes, we are acquainted, but we haven’t had much time together to truly strengthen a friendship, only letters. I’m hoping that will change, now that I’ll be living in town.”

Ian hoped so, too. She needed more than just her maid for companionship, no matter how devoted Clara seemed to be or what their relationship was to each other. 

The coach took a right turn and came to a stop in the yard of a coaching inn. Ian sighed deeply, unable to help himself, then got out of the coach and helped the women down. Rose turned to Clara and said, “Which of these men do you think we need to see about paying our passage?”

“Your passage is taken care of,” Ian told her, earning a wide-eyed look from Rose.

“But… but I never paid it!”

“There was nothing to pay. This coach was private, paid for by me. When I met you in the yard of the inn in London, I was about to embark on the journey alone.”

“Why did you let us join you?” she asked, still looking amazed. 

Ian shrugged. “You needed to get to Glasgow and I was already on the way. It was a kindness, nothing more.”

“But…” she started, looking flustered. “Passage to Glasgow from London costs twenty pounds!”

“Not for you, it doesn’t,” he told her with a grin. 

From the side of his eye, he could tell that Clara was trying to hide a smirk under her bonnet, but Rose flushed. “I need to repay you, Ian. I can’t let you spend that much money on me.”

“There’s no repayment needed. It was my honor to have you along for the ride. It gave me someone to talk to for six days. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

“But that’s so much money…”

“You absolutely do not need to pay me back in any way. The past six days have been my pleasure. But if you insist on doing something for me…”

“Yes?”

Before he could stop himself, the words burst forth. “You could do me the honor of allowing me to call on you when I’m in town. I’d love to see more of you, Rose, if that’s alright with you.”

Her eyes were saucers, big and round. Her mouth was a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, and he felt slightly out to sea while he waited for her to answer. Scrambling to cover himself, he said, “Of course, as I said, you are under no obligation to --”

“I’d like that,” she said, cutting him off before he could ramble on and say something abysmally stupid. 

When her words hit him, he felt himself relaxing into a huge, genuine smile - one Rose returned. “Thank you. That’s excellent. Just excellent.”

Perhaps being in Glasgow wouldn’t be the misery he thought it would, after all.

~*~O~*~

It took only a few minutes to get Rose’s trunks off the coach and onto a hired hack that would be taking her to the home of the Earl of Prentice. Ian had the urge to kiss her hand goodbye before she climbed into the carriage, but managed to resist temptation. Doing so would be terribly forward and he had no idea how she might react to it - particularly in front of Clara. Best to avoid doing something foolish.

Once the ladies were gone, Ian saw to the loading of his own trunks before getting into another hack and heading to Donna’s house. He still wasn’t entirely sure she would be there, but suspected she would, given that the season was in full swing. On the way, he thought about just what his life at Gallifrey was going to be like, wondering what, exactly, he was walking into, and did his best not to think of Rose.

Very soon, the hack came to a stop in front of the large townhome that belonged to his sister and her husband. Ian disembarked and climbed the stairs. The door opened before he could knock and Ian couldn’t help but grin at the familiar face of his sister’s butler. 

“Callum!”

Callum blinked in surprise. “M’lord? You’re back?”

“I am indeed back,” he answered, letting himself in the house. “Is my sister about?”

“She’s in her parlor, taking tea.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Good. If you’ll take care of my trunks, Callum, I’ll just go find her and give her the shock of her life.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ian set out towards where he thought he remembered the parlor being, surprised at his good mood. In the past, when he’d returned home for visits, he’d felt a bit like a lamb submitting itself for slaughter, but that feeling was absent this time. It shouldn’t have been, considering he was going to be staying a great deal longer than a flying visit. This visit was permanent. He’d always resisted clipping his own wings and putting down roots. Why wasn’t he just sick about this?

He didn’t have time to give it much thought before he found the parlor and let himself in without knocking. His sister was sitting on a settee by the fireplace, raising a teacup to her lips when Ian opened the door. He leaned against the doorjamb and smirked when she froze, her eyes wide and staring.

“Ian?”

“Hello, Donna.”

The teacup clattered on the saucer as she jumped to her feet, rushing over to him. He met her part way, scooping her up into a big hug. When they pulled apart, he set her back from him, taking her in for a second. 

“It’s good to see you, Donna.”

“You too, Ian.” Then she swatted him on the arm. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For running out a year and a half ago. Don’t you know we needed you around here?”

Ian couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish. “I think I needed to get out the last of my youthful exuberance. But I’m here now.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “How do you mean, you’re here now?”

“I’ve come back to take over the duchy, as requested.”

Donna brought her hand to her head and touched it lightly. “Well thank the good Lord almighty for that.”

Ian chuckled at her dramatics. “Aren’t you going to invite me for tea?”

“Of course! Have a seat, Ian, and I’ll pour.”

The two siblings sat down near the fire and Donna poured Ian a cup of tea. The first sip warmed him through and through - nobody made tea like his sister, and he’d been stuck making his own while he traveled, or else drink the swill Nardole tried to pass off as tea. He grinned to himself. Home had some perks.

“So,” he began, “how are things?”

“Better now that you’re here. And you’re just in time, too. The season is flourishing. It’s the best in ten years!”

He held up a hand. “I’m not here to socialize, not in the way you’re thinking. I’m going to visit with you for a few days, and then I’m going to Gallifrey.”

“What’s the rush? You’ve been ignoring it for a year and a half, surely you can spare me a few weeks to find you a wife.”

Ian closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “I’m not in the market for a wife.” As he said it, Rose’s face popped into his mind, and he shook his head to clear it.

“Of course you are,” Donna scoffed. “That’s part and parcel of your duty to Gallifrey. To provide an heir.”

“And I’d be more than happy to pass the title on to your son, when you have one.”

A shadow crossed Donna’s face, and Ian regretted his words. “We’ve been trying for seven years, Ian. At this point, it’s almost too late to produce a son.”

“Don’t say that,” he admonished her. “I’ve seen women in their middle ages give birth to fine, healthy children. You just have to keep trying, and keep up the faith.”

“Thank you, that’s very bolstering and we will, but that doesn’t let you off the hook, mister.”

Ian sighed. “Not even for a little while?”

“You have to marry sometime. You’re forty now, it’s past time.”

“You’re assuming I _want_ to marry.”

“No, because I know you don’t. What I’m _assuming_ is that you’re going to take your duties to Gallifrey seriously. Am I wrong?”

He cringed. His sister knew just how to push his buttons. “No,” he ground out. “You’re not wrong.”

“Excellent! So you won’t object to me setting up some introductions for you,” she went on, her entire demeanor changed now that she’d gotten his agreement. “And of course, we’ll have to have a ball, to welcome you home…”

Ian sighed, his good mood gone and that lamb-going-to-slaughter feeling back in full force. “I don’t need a ball.”

“Why don’t you? Everyone will be there, and it gives you an opportunity to meet the unattached women.”

Once again, Ian thought of Rose. 

“Alright, I’ll go to your stupid ball. But I’ll need a few days to acquire appropriate attire - the life of a travelling doctor doesn’t lend itself to evening clothes.”

“Understandable. How about Friday? That will give you six days, and you can stay with me until after the ball.”

“Should be fine. Also, I want you to invite someone for me.”

Donna scoffed. “Who could you possibly want to invite? You don’t know anyone.”

“Prentice.”

She screwed up her face a little. “The earl?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I think everyone knows him, he’s very gregarious. But we don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like for you to invite him and his family.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

Ian did his best to remain composed. “I traveled with a member of his family from London to Glasgow. She was very kind, and I’d like to see her again.”

Donna’s eyebrows disappeared in her hairline. “Her?”

He sighed again. This was going to be a long week.

~*~O~*~

Rose stood in the center of the foyer of her cousin’s home, fighting the urge to take Clara’s hand and squeeze. The butler had been surprised to find two young women on his front step with three large trunks, but had covered it fairly well. Rose had explained who she was and asked to see Fergus. The butler had offered to show her to a lounge but Rose chose to stay with the trunks and Clara - more for the silent support than for any other reason.

Fergus’ house was huge - much bigger than the house Rose had grown up in, and that house had been large and luxurious. This house had papered walls with portraits in gilded frames and fresh flowers sitting around here and there. It was homey, she thought, and she’d have felt quite at ease there had she not been so anxious about the meeting she was about to have with her cousin. 

In her nervous state, she was just about to turn to Clara and declare they’d made a terrible mistake when Fergus rounded the corner, his brows furrowed. “Rose? Is that you, or was James having a go at me?”

Rose put on the best smile she could. “Hello, Fergus. It’s good to see you again.”

Her cousin smiled brightly and rushed forward to envelop Rose in a hug. “It _is_ you! Why didn’t you write that you were coming? Or did you? The post can be so unreliable sometimes, I swear.”

“I didn’t write,” Rose hastened to clarify. “I… I had to leave in a hurry.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow. “You did? I take it you’ve got a story for me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Am I going to like it? Nevermind that. Anything that made you leave London in a hurry without telling anyone is probably not going to be to my liking.” He sighed heavily. “Alright, then. Let’s go to my study to talk. James, please get my cousin’s trunks and her maid settled in.”

“Thank you,” Rose said quietly, shooting a glance at Clara. The brunette woman gave a bolstering nod and Rose returned it, then turned to follow Fergus out of the foyer.

He led her down the corridor a ways until he came to a tall, oaken door. He pushed it open and held the door for Rose, who ducked her head and went inside. Fergus’ study was definitely a man’s domain, decorated in dark tones with a fireplace burning merrily on one wall. There was a hunting rifle over the mantle and Rose stared at it blankly, without even seeing. 

She was startled by the sound of the door closing and turned to see Fergus rounding his desk. “Please, sit, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, sinking into a chair - but unable to make herself comfortable. Even if it had been proper to do so, she was too anxious to relax.

Fergus sat down behind the desk and regarded Rose, leaning back in his chair and resting his joined hands on his belly. “So. You had to flee London and quickly. Why?”

His eyes were serious, but she saw the kindness there, too, and it spurred her into speaking. For the next fifteen minutes, she spilled out her story, omitting no detail. She saw fire flash in Fergus’ eyes at certain points of her tale, and his jaw clenched more than once, but he remained quiet, letting her speak.

“So Clara and I - Clara’s my maid - we decided to come to Glasgow to find work for ourselves. She’s an excellent lady’s maid and also skilled as a seamstress. And as for me - I’m sure someone will hire me as --”

Fergus held up a hand. “Stop right there. No one is hiring you for anything.”

“But --”

“ _No_ , Rose. Honestly, I can’t believe you’d even dream that I’d allow such a thing. You did the right thing by coming to me, but I’m not allowing you to work.”

“Fergus --”

“No, you’re not taking a post, and that’s final.”

Despairing, Rose threw up her hands impatiently. “Well, what am I to do, then?”

“We’ll launch you here, the way you should have been launched in London, and you’ll have a season. Your life can continue on the path it was always destined for, with only a change of location. And if you don’t find anyone to your liking or decide you don’t wish to marry, you can live here with Osgood and me as our ward for as long as you please.”

“There’s only a few thousand pounds left. That’s not enough to launch me, much less support me for years and years.”

Fergus gave her a lopsided grin. “I have plenty of money. Don’t worry about that.”

Rose was defeated and she knew it, but she tried one more time. “Fergus --”

“No, I’m not hearing it. Now, you’ve arrived just in time for dinner. Run along upstairs and change out of your traveling clothes, then come back down and meet Osgood and me in the blue parlor, where we wait to be called to dinner. She’s going to be thrilled to see you, and to plan your coming out.”

Rose slumped a little - with relief or defeat, she didn’t know. Probably both. But after just a moment, she nodded, got to her feet, then went to find her room.


	6. Chapter 6

25 August, 1823

Ian waited for the Earl of Prentice in his study, looking around at all the things on display. There were the expected books and portraits, plus some assorted bric-a-brac lying around, and it made Ian wonder what he was going to do with his own study, once he got to Gallifrey and set it up. He sighed and added that task to the ever-growing list of things he had to do once he arrived at his estate. It was growing incredibly long. 

Frustrating though it was, focusing on his to-do list was serving to keep him from being too nervous about the meeting he was about to have. Ian reminded himself that what he was doing was perfectly proper, even neighborly, and that if he wanted to see Rose again, he’d have to obtain permission from her guardian. It felt a little forward, but the rules of society dictated he come and introduce himself, so here he was. Besides, the last two days with his sister had served to drive him nearly spare, what with her constant chatter about finding him a wife. Spending time with Rose would be like a much-needed breath of fresh air, so he waited in Prentice’s study, looked at the bric-a-brac, and tried not to fidget. 

At length, a man entered the study, and Ian turned to face him. He was tall and ginger, well-dressed in the current fashion and about Ian’s age. His smile was kind and his eyes were curious, and Ian could understand immediately why Rose had sought refuge with this particular cousin. Even if she’d had somewhere else to go, Ian suspected her best bet would have been to come here. 

“The Earl of Prentice, I presume?”

“Yes, and you must be the Duke of Gallifrey.”

Ian put his hand forward. The younger man took it and shook, dipping his head a little in an approximation of a bow - just as society demanded. Ian fought back a sigh. The bowing and scraping frustrated him, but that was the life he was living now. Might as well get used to it. 

“Ian, please.”

“And you can call me Fergus. Please, have a seat,” the ginger man said, offering a chair. Ian took a seat and waited for the other man to sit, but he didn’t right away. “Can I get you anything? I’ve some lovely scotch here, older than I am. It’s quite smooth.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Ian said politely, then took the offered glass. He swirled it around once, then took a sip. Fergus had been right, it did go down smooth. Maybe Ian would have to find out where Fergus had gotten it and procure some for Gallifrey.

Yet another thing for the to-do list. 

“I thought I knew all of the gentry in and around Glasgow,” Fergus was saying as he sat down, “but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, although my sister and brother-in-law tell me you’re acquainted.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My brother-in-law is the Marquess McAvoy.”

“Ah, yes. I know him, although not terribly well. We attend the same social clubs sometimes.”

Ian scoffed a little. “I’m surprised to hear that he frequents social clubs, honestly.”

“I’m not sure that he’s a regular visitor, but that’s where I’ve run into him before. I’m not there terribly frequently, myself, and slightly less often now that I’m married with a son. Funny how marriage and fatherhood changes everything.”

“I imagine so,” Ian said politely, not familiar at all with this particular topic.

Fergus was quiet for a second, then said, “And, of course, I occasionally see Lord McAvoy at balls and musicales and whatnot during the season.”

“Of course. In fact, that’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you know my sister, you know she loves giving balls and parties. She also sees me being home now as cause for celebration, so I’m here to deliver this to you.” He withdrew the invitation to the ball and extended it to Fergus. “It’s for you and your family.”

“Thank you,” Fergus said, looking surprised. “I’m sure we’ll all be delighted to attend. And this is quite timely - my cousin has just arrived from London and we’re looking to launch her this season.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the least I can do. She lost both her parents rather close together and never had her own season in London, so I’m sponsoring her here. My wife is terribly excited about it, and this invitation from Lady McAvoy is going to cause quite a sensation around here, let me tell you. Your sister’s invitations are highly coveted.”

Ian chuckled. “Good. I’m glad to know you’ll be sponsoring Rose.”

Fergus raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with my cousin.”

He froze, momentarily unsure how to proceed. Deciding quickly, he was honest. “She and her maid shared a coach with me from London to Glasgow. We became friends during the long ride. In fact, the other purpose for my visit was to request permission from you to call on her while I’m in town.”

“You shared a coach?”

“Yes.”

The ginger man eyed him up and down for a moment. “She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? Rose.”

Ian sensed he was being probed, but tried not to squirm. “Yes, quite lovely. I very much enjoyed getting to know her on the way here. She made a pleasure out of what would have ordinarily been a very dull trip.”

“Is there anything I need to know about this trip?”

“No. We shared the coach during the day and I escorted her to dinner a couple of nights, instead of us eating alone in our respective rooms. Nothing untoward happened.” 

Fergus was quiet, studying Ian. Then, “I feel it only fair to warn you, Lord Gallifrey, that I’m very protective of my cousin. She’s like the sister I never had. I’m quite sure you understand how brothers can be about their younger sisters.”

Ian nodded. Yes, he understood that entirely. “Of course.”

Fergus gave him an assessing look, then seemed to come to a decision. He nodded. “Very well. Can I get you another scotch? Then, if you’d like, I can fetch Rose for you and you can visit a while and pass along the invitation.”

“Yes,” Ian smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

~*~O~*~

“Miss Tyler?”

Rose looked up from the book she’d been immersed in, curious, to find the butler, James, standing in the doorway to the library. “Yes?”

“The Duke of Gallifrey for you, miss.”

“Who?”

“The Duke of Gallifrey.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “A duke…?”

James didn’t provide an explanation. “If you’d like, I’ll escort you to him. He’s in the blue parlor.”

Rose was still terribly confused, but set her book aside and got to her feet. She gave her dress a glance and debated going to change it before she was introduced to the duke, whoever that was. It would be rude to receive him wearing less than her best, but she’d only ordered new gowns from the dressmaker yesterday. Nothing was completed yet and wouldn’t be for a couple more days. Seeing nothing for it, she smoothed the skirt of her peach day dress one time and followed James from the room. 

_There must be some mistake,_ she thought to herself as she followed the butler. She didn’t know any dukes in Scotland - didn’t know any gentry at all, really, except her cousin. So who on earth…?

“Who did you say was here, James?”

“The Duke of Gallifrey, miss.”

Gallifrey… Gallifrey… Rose knew that name. Where had she heard it before? The answer hit her just as the door to the parlor opened and she stepped in. 

“Ian!” she exclaimed, pleased to see a friendly face. 

“Hello, Rose.” 

He greeted her with a warm smile and her chest did that fluttering thing it had done all during her trip. She puzzled at it for just a moment, then spoke. “I think James must have been having me on. He announced you as the Duke of Gallifrey.”

Ian looked suddenly sheepish and cleared his throat. “No, he wasn’t having you on. That’s my title. I am the 9th Duke of Gallifrey.”

Rose stared at him for a moment, nonplussed. “You are?”

“Yes. I inherited upon Brax’s death a year and a half ago, but I was a second son. I was never meant to have the title, wasn’t remotely interested in it, and wanted to do more for the world than politics or some such, so I worked as a doctor.”

The pieces were coming together in Rose’s mind. “A year and a half ago? But you were travelling - wait. That’s the business your sister called you home for?”

Ian nodded. “Yes. She felt it was time I took my responsibilities seriously. And she was right, it is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, curious. 

“Well, there were a couple of reasons. First and foremost, you seemed scared of me, intimidated, and I suspected that would only be worse if you knew I was a peer, especially a duke. But beyond that, it’s not how I think of myself, so it feels awkward to introduce myself that way. To my mind, I am Dr. Ian Docherty. I preferred you to think of me as Ian. I still prefer it.”

“Won’t we be breaking the rules of propriety if I call you Ian?”

“I don’t give a fig,” he told her, waving an airy hand. “The formalities don’t interest me. I’d rather you still call me by my name, just as you did before you knew of my title.”

“Of course, whatever you prefer,” she told him, “but I’m afraid I’ll still have to observe the societal rules when we’re around other people. It could cause a scandal if I were improper, and I won’t bring that sort of embarrassment down on my cousin.”

“Perfectly understandable,” he agreed amicably, then gave her a piercing look. “Are you alright with me being the Duke?”

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it, to be honest, but gave him a smile anyway. “Of course I am. It was just a surprise.”

“Excellent,” Ian smiled. “So I understand from your cousin you’re to be launched into society. I take it he wasn’t keen on your idea to find employment?”

Rose made a face. “No, not at all. He and Osgood each gave me quite a talking-to for even considering it.”

“Well, I never got the impression that you were particularly thrilled with the idea yourself, so it must be a relief, of sorts.”

“Of sorts, I suppose. I still feel under pressure, but there’s a different kind of pressure now.”

Ian tilted his head to the side. “Pressure for what?”

“Well, Lord Stone is still out there. He was set to arrive back from France in about two weeks, and when he finds out what I’ve done, I’m sure he’s going to try to find me. My solicitor is a good man and I swore him to secrecy, but if Lord Stone threatens him…”

“I understand,” Ian said. 

Rose sighed. “Fergus said not to worry about Lord Stone at all, but I can’t help it. He also told me to consider this my home for as long as I’d like to live here, but that’s not fair to him or Osgood. I know they’ll want the house to themselves sometimes, and having me here will only be added burden.”

Ian’s brows were knit. “I doubt very seriously your cousin sees you as a burden.”

“No, he wouldn’t, but I feel that way. So I’ve decided to marry as soon as I find a suitable gentleman, to alleviate my cousin and his wife of me.”

He looked surprised for a second, then gave her a shrewd look. “Is that what you _want_?”

She gave a little shrug, pretending an indifference she didn’t feel. “It’s an inevitability, really. I’ll have to marry, or remain on my cousin’s charity forever. And the sooner I marry, the sooner I’m safe from Lord Stone. I just hope I can find someone I can get on with. The whole prospect seems daunting.”

Ian looked deep in thought, his brows knit and lips pursed, and she wondered at his reaction. “Ian? Are you alright?”

In an instant, his look of consternation was gone, replaced with a smile. “Fine! I’m fine. Was just… I’m fine.”

“How have things been with your sister?”

“As I expected. Lots of talk about finding me a wife, and she’s throwing me a ball on Friday.”

Rose gave a little giggle. “Just like you predicted.”

Ian sighed, seeming put out by the very idea. “Yes, I was right. But there is a silver lining to my dark cloud: I come bearing an invitation for you and your family.”

“For me?” she stammered, surprised.

“Yes, for you. I left it with your cousin. I do hope you’ll make the evening bearable for me by lending your presence.”

Rose blinked again, still a bit in shock. “Yes, of course I’ll come. It’ll be my honor.”

Ian looked terribly pleased. “Excellent! And you’ll save room on your dance card for me, I hope?” he asked, his blue-green eyes earnest.

That odd fluttering sensation came again, and Rose was sure she was blushing. “Of - of course, Ian.”

“Well, now I’m quite looking forward to the evening. Indeed I am.”

Rose, despite feeling positively wibbly, was very much looking forward to the evening, herself.

~*~O~*~

She didn’t see Fergus or Osgood for the rest of the afternoon, but she was in such a daze, she barely even thought about it. They were there in the blue parlor, however, when Rose went down to wait to be called to dinner, and she felt herself flush when they both gave her knowing smiles.

Osgood rushed over to her, taking her hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she gushed. Her cousin’s wife tended to be matronly, rarely frivolous or girlish, but she was fairly bouncing with excitement now.

Rose knew exactly what she was talking about, but played ignorant anyway. “Tell you what?”

Osgood rolled her eyes. “That you’re acquainted with the Duke of Gallifrey, of course!”

“I didn’t exactly know,” she admitted. “He didn’t introduce himself to me as the Duke, only as a doctor.”

“He concealed his identity from you?” Fergus asked, a hint of steel to his voice.

“No, not at all,” Rose rushed to soothe him. “He didn’t tell me because I was very uncomfortable and shy when we first met, and he didn’t want to make me _more_ uncomfortable. Besides, he says he doesn’t think of himself as the Duke, since he never expected to inherit. He just thinks of himself as a doctor.”

“But he _is_ a duke, and you’ve caught his eye!” Osgood nearly squealed. 

“I have not caught his eye, not in the way you’re thinking. We just got to be friends on the long trip from Glasgow, and he was paying a friendly call to invite us to the ball.”

“We’ve never been invited to one of Lady McAvoy’s balls before, Rose,” Fergus explained, his eyes twinkling. “Much less had the guest of honor come to our home to personally deliver the invitation.”

Rose flushed a little. “He told me he wants to introduce me to his sister. He thinks we’ll be fast friends.”

“Look at you,” Osgood teased. “Been here two days and already hobnobbing with the most popular people in town and having gentlemen callers. Maybe we don’t need to launch her after all, Fergus.”

“It would seem we don’t,” Fergus agreed, smirking.

“Oh, stop it, you two,” Rose said, her cheeks flaming. “It was just a friendly call.”

“And do you think his subsequent calls will just be friendly, as well?”

“What do you mean?”

Fergus looked immensely pleased with himself. “He asked my permission to call on you, and the impression I got is that he would be a regular visitor. That this wasn’t just a friendly delivery of an invitation. Perhaps he’s interested in you?”

He wasn’t, Rose was sure - at least, not in the way Fergus and Osgood seemed to think he was. Ian simply thought of her as someone to talk to when the ride had been long and boring. Now she was one of the few people he knew in town. It made sense that he’d want to spend time around someone he knew and was comfortable with, and Rose didn’t mistake his attention for anything other than what it was - friendly. He had to marry someone befitting his station as a duke, and an untitled tradesman’s daughter who was nearly broke would hold no appeal. Right?

Right. But try as she may, Rose’s eyes wouldn’t stop sliding over to the chair he’d sat in when they’d visited earlier, imagining him sitting there now, smiling at her…

There went that fluttering sensation again...


	7. Chapter 7

29 August, 1823

Rose fidgeted on the stool at her vanity, watching in the mirror as Clara curled, pinned, and styled her hair. Lady McAvoy’s ball was in less than two hours, and she felt she might explode from excitement and nervousness. She’d never been to a ball, had only ever dreamed of going to one when she was younger, and now it seemed her dream was going to come true. The only regret she had was that she was going with an ulterior motive - to land a husband. If time weren’t a factor, she’d be more than happy to put that idea on the back burner and focus on just having fun, but unfortunately, her circumstances wouldn’t allow that. She needed a husband, and the faster the better.

“Quit fidgeting, I’m almost done,” Clara admonished. Rose did her best to do as asked, but her hands still wrung anxiously in her lap. Clara worked quietly for a few moments, humming to herself, then asked, “Are you excited to see your gentleman tonight?”

They’d been down this road several times over the past few days, since Ian had called on her and left an invitation to the ball, but Rose still feigned ignorance. “Who?”

Clara scoffed. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“There are going to be loads of gentlemen at this ball.”

“Yeah,” Clara agreed with a knowing look, “but only one that matters.”

Rose didn’t respond. Certainly the other gentlemen who would be there _mattered_ , in that they were all candidates for matrimony. But she had to admit, over the last few days, when she daydreamed about dancing at this ball, it hadn’t been some faceless stranger she’d been dancing with. It had been Ian... except for the times she daydreamed about dancing with a faceless stranger and Ian cutting in to steal her away. That had crossed her mind a fair few times.

After he’d left a few days ago, Rose had finally broken down and asked Clara what the fluttering and swooping sensations she felt in his presence meant. She’d never felt that way any other time, only with Ian, and it was becoming alarming. Clara had been patient and only a little smug when she explained that those feelings indicated attraction, strong attraction. Rose had been stunned, but when she thought harder about it, it made a strange kind of sense. Why wouldn’t she be attracted to him? He was handsome, intelligent, well-spoken, kind, and interesting. And he was a lord to boot: a duke, no less! No, there was no wonder Rose felt attracted to him. 

But she also felt sad and disappointed when she thought of it. He was in need of a bride, and while she was in need of a husband, she was the daughter of a tradesman. She’d never measure up. Technically, she supposed she would - she was a lady - but he’d be a fool if he didn’t marry someone more his equal. It was a shame, really, but a reality, so she did her best to mentally square her shoulders and go on with the task of finding a gentleman who _would_ marry her. 

“I’ve told you, Clara, there’s nothing between Ian and me but friendship. He’s a nice man who’s been very kind to me. That’s all.”

“That’s not all and you know it, but we don’t have time to discuss it now. It’s time to put on your dress.”

Rose got to her feet and looked over at the gorgeous gown that had been made for her to wear tonight. It was pink satin with yellow trim, done up in the latest fashion. It was also the most expensive dress she’d ever owned, and she’d implored her cousins to let her pay for it, to pay for the whole wardrobe that had been ordered for her. Fergus had merely laughed at the suggestion and Osgood had smiled gently, telling her that seeing Rose settled and happy would be thanks enough for them. Rose didn’t argue further, but wanted to pay them back for their kindness someday - if she were ever able. 

Ten minutes later, the gown was on and Rose was back in front of the mirror, watching as Clara affixed the silver necklace with glittering citrine stones around her neck, then placed the delicate, citrine-topped pins in her hair strategically to catch the light. When she was done, she took a step back. 

“There. Perfect. You’re going to take Glasgow by storm, Rose Tyler.”

Rose bit her lip anxiously. “If you say so…”

“I do say so, and what’s more, I’m right. Now go on, get downstairs before the coach leaves you behind and goes to the ball without you.”

~*~O~*~

Rose stared at the window of the carriage as it flew through the streets of Glasgow, but she wasn’t watching the scenery. She was taking in her own reflection. It wasn’t vanity that had her looking at herself, it was wonderment - she looked like a total stranger. Would Ian even recognize her, done up as she was? She’d never looked quite as… as _posh_ as she did tonight, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of her mother’s admonition against putting on airs. Was that what she was doing? It seemed almost unfair to make herself look like something she was not in an attempt to attract a man. What if a gentleman danced with her tonight, then called on her tomorrow? He’d see what she normally looked like, and wouldn’t he be disappointed? Ian, of course, had the opposite experience: he’d seen her in everyday dresses, never in a ball gown. What would he say? Would he appreciate the effect, or see it as her pretending to be something she wasn’t?

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Ian Docherty?

“Are you ready?” Osgood asked from beside her when the carriage stopped, squeezing her hand gently. 

Rose gave her a brave smile. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“You’ll be brilliant, Rose. The belle of the ball,” Fergus said with a smile. 

The coach door opened and Fergus got out to help his wife and cousin down. Once on the pavement, Rose heard the faint music and chattering coming from inside the brick building. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed her cousins to the door.

“Invitation?” the footman asked, and Fergus handed it over. When the footman seemed satisfied, he allowed the trio to enter, and they followed the crowd into the ballroom. 

Rose did her best not to gape at the sight before her. The ballroom was enormous, with several glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room warmly. Couples swirled all around on the shining parquet floor, and even more people stood off to the side, watching the dancers or conversing with one another. It was just as Rose had always imagined, when she let herself daydream of something like this, and she nearly choked up. 

Before she had time to turn to Fergus and Osgood to ask what they were supposed to do next, she noticed a familiar salt-and-pepper head making its way through the crowd toward her. She felt that fluttering again, and did her best not to flush. 

“Miss Tyler,” Ian said when he got close enough. “You look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered, sinking into a curtsey and wondering if it would be appropriate to tell him how handsome he looked in his formal togs. Probably not, but she appreciated how he looked, anyway. His suit was black, like most of the other gentlemen present, but he wore a waistcoat of royal blue that made his eyes appear to be nearly the same shade. He cut a terribly dashing figure, and Rose cursed the fact that he would never consider her for a wife. 

Ian looked away from her and over to Fergus. “And Lord Prentice, so pleased you could make it.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Your Grace,” Fergus answered, shaking hands with Ian.

“Is this your lovely wife?”

“It is,” Fergus said, putting one hand on the small of Osgood’s back. “Petronella Osgood Fitzgerald, may I present to you Ian Docherty, the Duke of Gallifrey.”

“Osgood to my friends,” she said as she curtseyed. “How do you do, Your Grace?”

“Very well. Are you all acquainted with my sister, Lady McAvoy?”

“Not well,” Osgood said, and Rose shook her head. 

“Please allow me to correct that. If you’ll follow me.”

Rose did as instructed and had barely had time to practice what she’d say when Ian came to a stop beside a tall, ginger woman wearing a green gown and a friendly smile. 

“Ian! You disappeared so suddenly, I thought you’d run away from your own party, but I see you merely found some guests. Hello,” Donna said, extending her hand to Fergus first. “You’re Lord Prentice, are you not?”

“Yes, and this is my wife, Petronella Osgood Fitzgerald.”

Osgood curtseyed again. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady McAvoy.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” the red-haired woman said politely, then turned to Rose with a smile. “And who’s this?”

Ian stepped forward then, touching Rose’s elbow, making her heart pitter-pat. “Donna, this is Miss Rose Tyler. She’s Lord Prentice’s cousin, and he’s launching her this season. Miss Tyler, this is my sister, Lady Donna McAvoy.”

Rose sank into a curtsey. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for inviting us.”

“It’s my pleasure. After Ian spoke so warmly of you when he arrived…”

Rose flushed with pleasure at the thought of him speaking of her warmly. “Your brother is too kind, m’lady.”

Lady McAvoy scoffed. “Ian, kind?” Just then, a footman approached and spoke quietly with Lady McAvoy. She sighed then gave a nod. “Alright, I’m on my way. Lord and Lady Prentice, it was a pleasure to see you again. Miss Tyler, an honor to meet you. But if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have a proverbial fire to put out.”

“You best go,” Ian advised, “before it becomes a real fire.”

Lady McAvoy left then to follow the footman, leaving the four standing there. Osgood spoke to Fergus, affording a tiny bit of privacy to Ian and Rose, but before she could say anything, he spoke. 

“Do you have your dance card?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “Yes, it’s right here.”

Ian took it and wrote his name beside two waltzes, the maximum number that was deemed proper, then handed it back to her. “I look forward to our dances later. In the meantime, I’m sure your cousin has scads of young gentlemen to introduce you to.”

Rose couldn’t care less in that moment, she wanted to keep talking to Ian, no one but Ian. His mention of her meeting other gentlemen served as a potent reminder that he’d never look to her as any sort of romantic partner, but perhaps she needed that. It wouldn’t do to daydream too much. She remembered herself and nodded. “Yes, I suppose he does. And your sister will want to introduce you to various ladies.”

“Yes, she does. But you and I will have a dance in a while, and maybe we can compare notes?”

She smiled. “That sounds like a fine plan.”

“Until then, Miss Tyler,” he said, bowing in front of her, and she curtseyed again. In a blink, he was off, winding his way through the crowd, and Rose was left standing with Fergus, Osgood, and their smug smiles.

~*~O~*~

This was ludicrous. Something had to be done. Rose couldn’t keep thinking about Ian, especially not while she was supposed to be selecting another man to marry. The man she was dancing with, Mickey Smith, Viscount Powell, was chattering away about something which held little interest to Rose. She was busy stealing glances at Ian as he talked with his sister and another woman he was apparently being introduced to. She was stunning, Rose thought, with her chestnut hair piled artistically on top of her head and her powder blue gown, but it seemed he wasn’t terribly interested in her - at least, his bored looks and body language indicated as much. 

While Rose watched, they chatted politely, then conversation seemed to stall. Lady McAvoy elbowed him, and he heaved a great sigh Rose could see from clear on the other side of the room. Then he extended his hand to the woman in blue with a smile that looked perfunctory to Rose. His movements seemed almost stilted as he led her out onto the dance floor, then took her waist and started dancing. He was a skillful dancer, graceful and powerful, and Rose felt the fluttering again, thinking about how, in a few short dances, it would be _her_ he’d be holding and leading around the floor. She couldn’t wait. 

“Do you ride?” Mickey asked, taking Rose off guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you ride. Horses, that is.”

“Oh! Yes, I know how to ride, although I didn’t grow up in the country. I was raised in London, so opportunities to ride were a bit more scarce. Plus, I imagine that an afternoon ride through Hyde Park is nothing compared to being able to ride around on a large estate.”

“Oh, no, they’re nothing alike. In fact…” Mickey launched into a long-winded explanation about his estate and the riding trails that could be found there, when one wasn’t galloping through the open fields. Rose listened attentively for as long as she could before her attention drifted back to Ian. He was still dancing with the woman in blue, and Rose was close enough to see now that the woman was making eyes up at Ian, batting her lashes and giving him soft smiles. It made Rose’s stomach churn, but what could she do? He needed a wife, someone suitable for him, and this woman was almost certainly higher on the social ladder than her. 

“Are you alright?” Mickey asked suddenly.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine.”

“You were frowning. It looked as if you had a distressing thought.”

The thought of Ian marrying someone else _was_ rather distressing, but she supposed she’d best get used to it. It would be fact before long, and not just a possibility. 

“I’m afraid I’ve grown quite parched,” she said instead. “Do you think we could get some refreshment?”

“Of course,” Mickey said, stopping their dance at once. Rose took his offered arm as he promenaded her around the room towards the refreshment table, then gave him a word of thanks when he presented her with a glass of champagne. She let herself look around the room while Mickey prattled about something, feeling another pang of jealousy when she saw Ian still dancing with the lady in blue. 

Yes, she _really_ needed to get over this infatuation, and soon. Otherwise, she was just setting herself up for a lot of hurt.


	8. Chapter 8

Ian stood at the side of the ballroom, doing his best to be covert while he watched Rose spin around the room with a young lord he didn’t know. She was smiling and laughing, seemed to be having the time of her life, but something was off, Ian could sense it. He’d spent hours around her when she wasn’t on her guard, had heard her laughs and seen her smiles when she had nothing to prove, and the gaiety she was showing now was different. Subtly so, but definitely different. He didn't think her dance partners would suspect anything amiss, but he certainly did. Rose was trying too hard. 

He tried to ignore the twinges that came with watching her with another man, doing his best to dismiss them. It wasn’t as if she were having the time of her life with these other gentlemen. He wondered if she was displeased because of the particular gentlemen she was dancing with, or if it were just gentlemen in general she objected to. Her stiffness while dancing led credence to the idea that perhaps she was in a relationship with her maid, and her unhappy looks made him as certain as he could be of that fact without asking directly.

A clap on his shoulder interrupted his vigil. He turned around, ready to give the rough side of his tongue to whoever it was, but broke into a smile when he saw his cousin, Harold Saxon. 

“Harold!” he exclaimed, shaking the shorter man’s hand. “It’s so good to see you. I asked Donna to invite you, but didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“Of course I made it. A ball in honor of my illustrious cousin, the Duke? And given by the cousin who hates me and never invites me to things?”

Ian snorted. “She doesn’t hate you,” he lied, “she just doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

“And she’s determined to continue her ignorance for the rest of her days, it seems.” 

He had nothing to say to that. Given the chance, Donna would almost certainly do exactly as Harold predicted. Unsure of how to respond, he changed the subject. “Where is Lucy? Is she here?”

“She’s gossiping by the refreshment table. Some debutante was compromised and it’s all she can talk about. She’s having a field day with it: you know how women are.”

Ian had only the vaguest idea, having studiously avoided deep entanglements with women for most of his life. Wildly, he wondered if Rose would be the sort to loiter around refreshment tables and spread rumors. No, he decided at once, she would not. He knew her better than that. She was much too kind-hearted to partake in such shallow pursuits.

Instinctively, his eyes sought her out and he scowled. Her partner’s hand was drifting just a bit low on her waist to be decent, and he wanted to rush out onto the floor and deck the man. Instead, he ground his teeth.

“Going to call for pistols at dawn, cousin?” Harold asked, sounding amused. 

He shook himself back into the present and away from his little fantasy of throttling the upstart Rose was dancing with. Where the hell had _that_ come from? Jealousy? That wasn’t like him. No, surely he was just being protective of his friend. She deserved to be treated with respect. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said coolly, hoping to cover himself.

Harold scoffed. “Of course you don’t. But if looks could kill, that man would be dead.” 

“Who is he?”

“The man with the wandering hands dancing with the blonde?”

“Yes,” Ian snapped, irritated. 

“Adam Mitchell, heir to Viscount Anders. He just returned from his grand tour. Very interested in science. A bit of a womanizer, but weren’t we all at that age?”

Ian harrumphed. It was true that most young men around Mitchell’s age did their fair share of chasing skirt, but he was _not_ pleased that the skirt currently being chased belonged to Rose. 

“Overall, a good chap,” Harold was concluding. “You’d probably even like the boy, if you could quit staring daggers at him.”

“He looks like a weasel,” Ian grumbled. 

“Set your cap for the blonde already? Donna will be _so_ disappointed.” Harold chuckled sarcastically. “My understanding was that this ball was to introduce you to as many women as possible in order to get you leg-shackled with an heir on the way.”

“And my response to that hasn’t changed: the bachelor life suits me fine, always has. The duchy will be yours upon my death, for you to pass on to your son, and may God have mercy on you with it.”

“Let’s not rush things, shall we? You’re a young man, the duchy will remain in your capable hands for many a year to come.”

Ian scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

Harold was looking over Ian’s shoulder. “It appears my wife needs me, so I’m afraid I must excuse myself.”

“Bring her over,” Ian suggested. “I’d like to say hello.”

“You can do that another time. For right now, your sister is on the way over with a very fetching-looking woman with matrimony in her eyes.”

Ian sighed. “I just bet she is. This will make the seventh introduction tonight.”

Harold clapped him on the shoulder again. “Buck up. The night will be over soon. In the meantime, enjoy the ride, and good luck with the blonde.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ian said to no one as his cousin retreated. He’d no sooner disappeared into the crowd when he heard Donna speaking his name. Schooling his face into a bland expression, he turned around. “Hello, Donna.”

She wasted no time introducing the curly-haired woman beside her. “Ian, this is Lady River Song. I’ve mentioned her to you before. River, my brother, the Duke of Gallifrey.”

River Song sank into a curtsey. “Your Grace, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Ian gave a little bow. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Donna looked expectantly from him to River then back. Finally, she snapped, “Well? Are you going to ask her to dance?”

He ground his teeth. “Of course. Where are my manners? Lady Song, can I interest you in a dance?”

“It would be my honor,” she breathed, her smile dazzling, and Ian did his best not to roll his eyes. It was going to be long night.

~*~O~*~

Fifteen minutes later found Ian back on the sidelines of the ball, watching the crowd again. Rose’s smiles were still looking forced, and she was dancing with a different man this time, a gangly-looking fellow who seemed as if he’d be tripping over his feet at every turn. He saw her wince more than once, and assumed that the oaf was treading on her toes, as well. But at least _this_ man was keeping his hands in respectable places. That alleviated Ian’s urge to kill just a bit - although it didn’t get rid of it entirely. 

His first dance with Rose was next, and he couldn’t wait, although he was more than a little concerned she’d be giving him the same forced smile she’d been giving every other gentleman she’d danced with. He wasn’t sure how he’d react to that, honestly. He had been able to evoke real smiles and laughs from her when they’d spent time together before tonight. Hopefully, his touch wouldn’t be disagreeable to her. 

“You’ve been an unsocial lout all evening,” Donna complained, coming to stand beside him, offering him a glass of champagne. 

“You’ve known me your entire life, Donna. You knew perfectly well I wasn’t interested in coming to your ball to meet women, yet you threw it anyway. And now you’re complaining that I’m not playing along?”

“You could at least dance with these ladies without having to be prodded to do so. Would it kill you to show a little interest in some of them? You might find you actually _like_ someone. You never know.”

“I do know. None of the women you’ve introduced me to have appealed to me in the slightest. Why give them any sort of hope that the situation is otherwise?”

“You’re impossible. You’re going to _have_ to marry at some point, Ian. You can’t remain a bachelor forever.”

Ian didn’t see why not, but didn’t challenge her.

Donna wasn’t done. “I’ll bet you haven’t signed a single dance card all night, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I’m scheduled to dance with Miss Tyler, the next waltz.”

She gave a little half smile. “Miss Tyler, eh?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m just pleased that any woman has taken your notice. But I feel compelled to point out... ”

“What?”

“She’s being launched, which indicates she’s in the market for a husband. Although I’m not sure why she wasn’t launched when she turned eighteen, she seems a bit old…”

“Her father had just died when she turned eighteen,” Ian supplied at once. “She couldn’t be launched while in mourning. And very shortly after her mourning period for him ended, her mother took ill. She lingered for nearly a year, then died herself. That’s why she’s nearly twenty-one and unmarried.”

Donna’s ginger eyebrows were near her hairline. “How do you know all of this?”

“I told you, we shared a coach from London. You tend to get to know a person rather well when you’re trapped in an enclosed space with them for six days.”

“Indeed. And you liked her?”

“Very much.”

Donna seemed to consider this for a second. “And she’s in the market for a husband?” she repeated.

“She is. Wants to marry as soon as possible, in fact,” he told her, then took a sip of his champagne. Ian nodded towards the dance floor. “What do you know about the young man she’s dancing with?”

Donna peered out, narrowing her eyes for a second. “That’s Rory Williams, Earl of Trent. Very nice young man, just came into the title last year when his father died. Very intelligent, very well-spoken. Enjoys philosophy and medicine, and there are no scandals attached to his name. He’d make a fine husband.”

Ian grunted, not at all pleased with Donna’s last sentence. He had been hunting around for information about the men who had been dancing with Rose, hoping to be able to warn her off all of them. So far, he’d found something about each of them that he could spin into a plausible reason to avoid matrimony. But if Donna was saying this Rory would make a fine husband… 

“Of course,” Donna went on, “he’s almost certainly going to make a fine husband to _Amelia Pond_.”

“Who?”

“The two have been friends since childhood and have something of an understanding. It’s well known within social circles that he’s letting her have her season unencumbered, and then he intends to propose.”

A wide smile broke out across Ian’s face. “Excellent. That’s excellent news.”

Donna sighed a little. “Ian, sometimes I just want to clock you on the head. You may be the cleverest man in the room, but sometimes, you’re really quite stupid.”

“What did I do?”

“You need a wife.”

“So you say.”

“And Miss Tyler needs a husband.”

It was as if a light came on in Ian’s mind. How could he have missed the obvious? Rose needed a husband. By marrying her, he would protect her from Lord Stone. They were good friends and would get along well. He’d make a decent husband, he thought, even if he had never harbored any ambition to be so. She could certainly do worse than him. And then there was his title. Honestly, were Rose any other woman, that would probably be enough to tempt her into marriage on its own, but he knew that wouldn’t be the most important thing to Rose. She was more interested in the man than the title - which appealed to Ian tremendously. In fact, the more he thought about this idea, the more he liked it.

It was inevitable that he would eventually succumb to Donna's haranguing him to take a wife. She was never going to let up until he was married. Why not take a wife to his liking? Rose was clever, kind, a perfect lady, and perfectly suitable. Why not her?

The music ended and Ian looked up to find Rose. She was on the arm of Rory Williams, and he was promenading her. Something beat within his breast that he couldn’t quite identify - he thought maybe it was anticipation. It was his turn to dance with Rose. 

“If you’ll excuse me, Donna,” he said politely, not taking his eyes off Rose to look at his sister. If he had, he’d have seen her smug smile. 

“Go,” Donna shooed him and Ian didn't waste any time. He cut through the crowd as efficiently as he could until he got to where the Earl of Trent was standing with Rose. As soon as he reached them, he bowed to Rose, who curtseyed.

“Miss Tyler.”

“Your Grace.”

Ian turned to the younger man, no longer wishing to kill him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ian Docherty, Duke of Gallifrey.”

“Rory Williams, Earl of Trent, Your Grace,” he said from a bow. 

“A pleasure.” He turned back to Rose. “I believe this is my dance?”

“I believe so, Your Grace.”

“Shall we?” He offered his arm and felt a thrill when she took it. He’d never touched her before, except to help her in and out of the coach and to lightly touch her arm to guide her. But now he was about to have her in his arms, and he felt nearly giddy. He hadn’t felt anticipation like this regarding a woman in many years.

He led her out to the dance floor and put one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand aloft. She was warm and soft, delicate in his arms, and he had the urge to protect her and keep her close. As soon as the music started, they took off together, Ian leading their steps. 

“You dance beautifully, Your Grace.”

Ian tsked her. “There’s no one around to hear. You can call me Ian now.”

She flushed, but nodded. Ian thought it terribly fetching, and tightened his hand on her waist a bit. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“I am.”

“You seem to be quite the hit. Your feet must be tired from all the dancing you’ve done.”

She laughed, and Ian was immensely pleased to note that it was genuine. “And they’re sore, too. Some of my partners haven’t been quite as capable at dancing as you.”

Her topaz eyes sparkled like the jewels at her throat. He hadn’t seen that from her all night, and was chuffed to be the one to have earned it. Perhaps it wasn’t _all_ gentlemen, after all. 

“I’m pleased to hear it, although not pleased for your feet. How are you finding the gentlemen you’ve danced with? Anyone suitable for marriage?”

Rose sighed. “They’re all suitable, I suppose, but it’s hard to really get to know someone on a dance floor.”

“I have some information about some of them, if you’re interested in knowing.”

“Of course! What do you know?”

“You may not like what I have to tell you,” he warned, fervently hoping that she would _detest_ what he had to tell her.

“I’d rather hear it from you than find it out on my own, in that case. Time is of the essence, as you know, and knowing who to avoid will be most helpful. Go on, then, let me have it.”

“Very well. I saw you dancing with Viscount Neathom earlier. I feel I should advise you that he has a bit of a gambling problem. He’s on the lookout for a large dowry, so you’ll want to steer clear of him.”

“Not like I have a large dowry,” she muttered, then sighed. “Alright. I wasn’t terribly fond of him, anyway. What of Mickey Smith, Viscount Powell?”

“He’s obsessed with horses.”

“Hmm. I noticed he talked about them quite a bit. But I like to ride, so that should be alright.”

“No, I mean he rarely does anything else but tend to his horses or take them to races. If you married him, you’d practically be a widow from the start. Beyond that, he’s an idiot.”

Rose looked to be trying to hide a smile. “That’s very uncharitable of you. Very unkind.”

“It’s true, though. You’d never be able to carry on an intelligent conversation with him.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like something I’d want. What about Mr. Adam Mitchell?”

“A known womanizer. Much more interested in the pursuit than the capture, if you take my meaning. He _really_ likes the pursuit.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, having danced with him. I got the impression he could be… a bit of a libertine. What about the Earl of Trent?”

“A lovely fellow, from what I’ve been able to gather, but he’s all but promised to another young woman.”

Rose sighed. “This is all very disheartening, but I do appreciate you telling me. I suppose I’ll just have to keep looking.”

No, she wouldn’t, because _he_ had resolved to marry her himself. But he wasn’t ready to propose just yet. His mind was made up, but he wanted to work out how best to approach her with the idea. She didn’t strike him as the type who would accept an impulsive proposal, and he needed to do a bit of planning beforehand. Already, ideas were forming and taking shape. 

She looked up at him with a polite smile that he was dismayed to see didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How about you?” she asked. “I’ve seen you dancing with various women. Have any of them taken your fancy?”

“No,” he said honestly. “I am not interested in any of the women my sister has introduced me to.”

She brightened a little at his pronouncement, and it gave him a bit of hope. “That’s a shame,” she said solemnly, and he could have laughed. She was being false again, but this time it was to his benefit, he thought. “Still, there are more people for both of us to meet, aren’t there?”

“Yes, there are,” he answered, then added privately that it didn’t matter. By this time tomorrow night, Rose Tyler would be his fiancée. 

Rose went on. “And even if I didn’t meet a gentleman suitable for marriage, at least I have scads of stories to tell Clara tonight.”

Ian stiffened at the sudden reminder that she would not come into any marriage alone. She’d be bringing along her devoted maid, the woman she seemed to love. This would not be a traditional marriage. Could he live with that?

“Ian?” Rose asked, looking at him curiously. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, giving her the warmest smile he could. “Just fine.”


	9. Chapter 9

30 August, 1823

Ian paced in Lord Prentice’s blue parlor, waiting for Rose to appear. He’d been waiting a while, but he conceded it was still a bit early, especially given the festivities of the night before. He’d wanted to arrive before any of the other young men Rose had met last night had the same idea, but perhaps he’d gotten here before it was strictly proper. No matter. He could wait. His business was certainly important enough. 

After he’d made up his mind to ask Rose to be his wife and their first dance together, the evening had become increasingly tedious and pointless with every passing minute. The only thing that had kept him at his sister’s ball was the promise of another dance with her. He had been even less inclined to be polite to the myriad women his sister had introduced him to, and watching Rose being danced around the room had been maddening in the worst possible way. 

He’d had the possessive urge to yank her from the room and propose right away, but had managed not to do so. He had still needed to think, to make absolutely certain he was weighing the benefits and downsides appropriately, and a loud ballroom was no place to do any heavy thinking. For that reason (and a couple others), he did not let on to anyone what his plan was - including his sister, even when she cornered him to lecture, yet again, about his need for the matrimonial state. Somehow, he’d kept his plan to himself. 

Once he’d been alone, he’d spent all night dwelling on the decision. Despite Donna’s insistence, Ian still didn’t see getting married as a necessity, not even to Rose. It was merely a kindness - both to her and to himself. Rose had taken drastic, life-altering measures to avoid marriage to Lord Stone. Now he would be saving her from the fate she feared, and he had the means to guarantee her safety for as long as she lived. She’d never have to worry about Lord Stone again, Ian would see to it. 

He also recognized, with a twinge of jealousy that he quickly tamped down, that he would never come first in her heart. Clara would hold that position. He didn’t expect to steal Rose’s heart and told himself he didn’t care that he wouldn’t. Marrying her and allowing her to carry on her relationship with her maid was another kindness: most husbands, if they found out their wives’ preference for female company, would forbid any such behavior. 

As for himself, marrying Rose would get his sister off his back - at least, in regard to matrimony. True, he would still never produce an heir, but no one need know they weren’t trying to do so and failing. Despite Donna’s concerns, he still wasn’t bothered by the prospect of his cousin taking the duchy. But besides all that, he and Rose were ideally suited for matrimony. They got on well and would make very companionable spouses. They both enjoyed reading and academic pursuits, and she was very easy to talk to. A life with Rose would be comfortable, and he was pleased with the idea. 

The door opened and Ian got to his feet to greet Rose. She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling with pleasure, and he amended his list of kindnesses to himself to add one more - Rose was exceptionally lovely, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and knowing that her smile would be directed at him for years to come was a boon. 

Rose curtseyed and Ian gave a little bow. “Your Grace.” Then she turned her head to make sure James had left the room. Once he had, she turned back around and smiled at him even more brightly. “Hello, Ian.”

“Hello, Rose.”

“Won’t you sit?”

“Of course.” Ian waited politely for Rose to take her seat across from him, then sat. Once she was situated, her skirts straightened around her crossed ankles, he asked, “Did you have a good time at the ball last night?”

“I did,” Rose nodded, her eyes twinkling. ”I can’t thank you enough for including us.”

“It was my pleasure. The time spent with you was the highlight of an otherwise dull evening.”

“Well, I’m pleased to have helped in some small way. Is your sister planning any more events?”

“Oh, I’m sure she is, but I won’t be around for them. At least, not for a while. I have to go to Gallifrey to get things ready to bring my wife.”

Rose looked surprised, the smile sliding off her face at once, and Ian mentally crossed his fingers. He hoped he’d be putting it back in just a moment. 

“You found a woman to marry?” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “I thought you said none of the women at the ball interested you?”

“No, I said none of the women my sister _introduced me to_ were of any interest to me. There’s a difference. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I met _this_ woman on my own.”

Rose’s brow furrowed and he dared to hope she looked disappointed. She looked down at her hands in her lap, studying them for a moment, and he felt a little prickle of anxiety. How was she going to react to his proposal, now that the moment was at hand?

She seemed to come back to herself and gave him a smile, albeit one of the forced ones he’d witnessed when she was dancing with the other men last night. Her voice was tight when she spoke. “Well, congratulations. I pray you don’t keep me in suspense any longer, though. Tell me, who is the woman you plan to marry? Is there a chance I know her?”

His heart was pounding in his ears and his palms were sweating, but he did his best to sound confident when he spoke. “I should think so... as she’s you.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfectly round ‘o’. She looked to be completely shocked by what he’d said, and he did his best to calm the beating of his heart. 

“I’m - I’m sorry?” she stammered. “I think I must have misheard you, it sounded as if you indicated _me_.”

“Then you didn’t misunderstand. I’ve decided I would like to marry you and have come to ask for your hand.”

It seemed she needed another moment to recover from the shock, and she blinked owlishly at him while he waited as patiently as he could. He was just about to ask if she was alright when she surprised him by bursting into laughter. He made an effort not to be insulted.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You’re having a go at me. That’s very funny, Ian, but I wouldn’t recommend trying it with any other women. They may take you seriously.”

This wasn’t helping his anxiety. “I’m perfectly serious. I realize our acquaintance has been short, but I assure you, Rose Tyler, I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

The laughter died and she was back to looking shocked. “But… but… you can’t!”

“Why not?”

“You’re a duke.”

“Yes, I am. You said my title didn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t _bother_ me, it just… You have to marry a lady!”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you not a lady?”

She clicked her tongue in response. “I’m a tradesman’s daughter. You know that.”

“Yes, but you’re also the granddaughter of an earl. Your lineage makes you perfectly proper. And even if it didn’t, I’d still like to marry you.”

“But, my father…”

“I like to think he would have approved of the match,” Ian teased. 

“Well, yes, of course,” she said hurriedly. “He’d have been delighted, and certainly have found no fault with you.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “Do _you_ find fault with me?”

Rose flushed scarlet. “No, of course not. Not at all. I just don’t understand…”

Ian smiled. If her not understanding his reasoning was her only objection, he could overcome that easily. Excellent. He relaxed just a little. 

“You’re in need of a husband and I’m in need of a wife. That alone is reason enough, but there’s more to recommend a match between us.”

“There is?”

“Yes. We get on exceptionally well, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Most married couples don’t enjoy the friendship we do, so our marriage will almost certainly be a successful one.”

“But Lord Stone --”

Ian held up a hand. “You never have to worry about him again, if you don’t want. If you agree to marry me, I’m going to make sure he never bothers you again. Unless you would like to take him to court.”

“For the money he stole?”

“Yes. I would be more than happy to support you in your endeavor to recover your family’s lost funds from Lord Stone, and will do everything within my considerable power to help you if you wish to do so. But my advice would be to leave it alone. Taking him to court would mean you’d have to see him again, to deal with him, and I’d as soon spare you that.”

“But it was tens of thousands of pounds.”

“I have more than enough money to make up the loss. You won’t miss it, and he will be out of your life forever. I’ll do whatever you want, but I recommend you leave it alone, look to the future, and let him be a part of your past.”

Rose looked astonished, then pensive. He resisted the urge to press her for an answer. He’d honestly expected (or at least hoped) she would say yes almost immediately, but he should have known better. She was a thoughtful woman and unlikely to rush into such a big life decision willy-nilly. Even in her hurried state, she would still want to make sure she was doing the right thing, and Ian appreciated that about her. 

“What would it be like?”

“Hmm?”

“Life as… as the…”

“As the duchess?” he provided with the corner of his mouth quirked. 

She flushed again. “Yes.”

“I’m glad you asked. As you know, I’m a doctor, and have been for two decades. I know very little about running an estate, and will be leaning on my steward quite a bit. Ianto has been with the family for many years, but I’d still appreciate your input about decisions I’ll have to make regarding the running of the estate.”

Her eyes were wide again. “My input?”

“Yes. You were raised to run a business, and a duchy is not much different from a business. Your life experience will lend you well to this role, and I will treat your opinions with the utmost respect. You’ll have my respect in all areas, naturally, but this is a bit unusual for most marriages.”

“It certainly is,” she commented under her breath.

Ian was fairly certain he wasn’t meant to hear that, so he didn’t respond to it directly. “You’ll have to run the household, of course, with the help of the housekeeper, Madame Vastra. I’ll have to ask you to serve as hostess for some social occasions, and appear with me at my sister’s events. Hopefully that won’t be too much of a burden.”

“No, of course not.”

“In return, I’ll provide for you, and provide amply. You’ll be granted pin money to do with as you like, but your every need and most of your wants will be attended to by me. Just say the word and they’ll be seen to.”

While she pondered that, he leaned in a little, bracing to deliver the last bit of his proposal. “We’ll have a somewhat unusual marriage, in that I won’t be pestering you to provide me with an heir. In fact, I don’t expect you to do any such thing.”

He’d managed to shock her again. “You don’t?”

“No. I’m proposing that we marry and live together as friends. You will have your own wing of the ducal estate to do with as you please, and can reside there. You can have whatever guests you like. You can keep Clara and hire whatever servants you want. And as long as you don’t shame me, you’re free to do as you please. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The dark red stain on her cheeks indicated that she did, but she still nodded. “You’re proposing a marriage of convenience.”

“Yes, in a sense. What do you think?”

“Would I still be able to visit with my cousin?”

“Of course. And they’re free to come to Gallifrey any time you like. But I will need you at the estate to help me tend to business, so we won’t be in Glasgow terribly often.”

“No, of course not.” She was quiet a moment longer. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“I think you’re brilliant, and you’ll make a brilliant duchess. It will take some getting used to, of course, but I’ve no doubt you’ll rise to the occasion most admirably.”

Rose nodded. “Well, I hope you’re right.”

Ian brightened. “You’ll marry me?”

“I’d be a fool to say no,” she said with a little smile. “Yes, Ian. I’ll marry you.”

He felt like the weight of ten horses slid off his shoulders at her pronouncement. He hadn’t realized just how nervous he’d been. Reaching across, he took her hand from her lap and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. He felt a rush of something he didn't entirely understand but didn’t have time to process now. He looked up to see Rose flushing becomingly and said in a low voice, “Thank you, sweetheart. When can I speak with your cousin?”

“He’s home now, in his study. Should I…”

“I’ll go speak with him. It shouldn’t take long. And then we can talk some more? There’s much to discuss.”

She nodded a little, her hand still in his. “I’d like that.”


	10. Chapter 10

Ian didn’t bother any of the servants when he left the parlor and headed towards Fergus’ study; he remembered the way from his visit earlier in the week. He felt lighter than air and there was a bounce to his step as he made his way down the elegant corridor. Everything seemed to be going his way at the moment, and he didn’t doubt that his meeting with Rose’s cousin would go just as well. What guardian wouldn’t be pleased with the idea of their ward matching with a duke? As much as he struggled with many of the restrictions of his title, he had to allow it came with a great many advantages as well. This was certainly one of them. 

He wondered if he’d have had Rose’s agreement to marry so easily if he hadn’t been titled, then scoffed to himself and dismissed the thought as rubbish. She was pragmatic, yes, and certainly saw the benefit of marrying a duke, but she wasn’t a social climber. Not his Rose. 

_His Rose._ Oh, he did like the sound of that. Despite his assertion that theirs would be a marriage of convenience, Ian couldn’t deny a certain… fondness for his intended. An affection for her. They were friends, yes, but there was a warmth to their friendship that he’d never experienced before in any relationship, male or female. He also felt oddly protective of her, which was a new emotion for him. Last night, at the ball, he’d wanted desperately to pull her away from the men who were so clearly making her uncomfortable, but hadn’t had the position in her life to do so. Now, as his wife, she would have his protection all the time, in every way and, he felt with a twinge of something that was definitely _not_ jealousy, the freedom to follow her heart. 

The door to Prentice’s study was open but Ian gave a little knock to signal his presence. The earl looked up from the correspondence in his hand and smiled. “Your Grace! Here to see Rose?”

“I just left her. May I come in and speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course,” Fergus said, getting to his feet from behind the desk. “Can I get you a glass of scotch?”

“Please.”

“Of course,” Fergus agreed amicably, going to pour.

Ian waited politely for the other man to hand him the glass and motion to the chair, then took his seat. He took a sip of the scotch, gathering his words, deciding how best to say what needed to be said. 

“So you called on Rose?” Fergus began. “Anything I need to know about? A change in your intentions?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, grateful for the easy opening. “I asked Rose to be my wife just now. She’s agreed. I hope to be married soon.”

Fergus’ eyes widened, and Ian almost smirked at the look of surprise. It faded quickly, though, replaced with a spark of anger in the other man’s eyes. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I feel it necessary to ask. Have you compromised my cousin?”

He should have expected it, but Ian was taken off guard by the question. It only took a second for him to gather himself, however. “No. Your cousin’s reputation is perfectly intact.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I understand that you don’t know me well, Prentice, but you can take my word: had I compromised her, I’d have married her straight away.”

“Without her guardian’s permission?”

“This is Scotland. No permission is needed, and she’s of marriageable age.”

Fergus seemed to accept the truth in that, and the anger in his eyes died down a bit. “So you’ve simply decided to marry her?”

“Yes. She’s in need of a husband and I’m in need of a wife. We get on well, and I’m sure we’ll make a successful pair.”

“I’m compelled to correct you on one point, Ian. She’s _not_ in need of a husband. She’s free to live here as my ward for the rest of her life, if she wishes.”

“Rose informed me of that, and I appreciate it. But _she_ still sees herself as in need of a husband, and the fact remains that I need a wife.”

Fergus took a sip of his scotch, eyeing Ian. “I assume, given your station, we don’t need to have a discussion about how you’ll provide for her?”

“No, but we can have it anyway if you’d like. She’ll have a monthly allowance of fifty pounds in pin money to do with as she pleases, but she won’t have much to do. As I told her, I intend to see to of all of her needs and most of her wants.”

Rose’s cousin raised his ginger eyebrows. “Fifty pounds a month is quite a large sum for pin money.”

“I want her to be happy, and to feel free to buy whatever she likes.”

Fergus nodded. “When do you intend to be married?”

“Soon. The banns take three weeks to read, and it will take that long to prepare Gallifrey for her arrival, perhaps a little longer. I would like to be married at my estate on Michaelmas. That is, of course, subject to Rose’s agreement.”

“So a month.”

“Yes, hopefully. And I’ll be gone a large portion of that time, getting Gallifrey in order.”

Fergus seemed to consider this. “You’re aware that Lord Stone robbed her of nearly everything. Her dowry is much smaller than it would have been, had her father lived.”

“I’m aware, and I’m not at all concerned with her dowry. I don’t need it, and she won’t either. I did, however, offer to sue Lord Stone on her behalf to recoup her stolen funds.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She didn’t give me a definitive answer, but I advised her against it. It would just be an unnecessary strain on her. I have more than enough to cover everything she lost. She’ll never miss it, so there’s no need for her to see that bastard ever again.”

“You’re aware that she believes Lord Stone is going to come for her?”

“I am. And I’ve assured her that she no longer has any cause to worry about him. I intend to dispatch a messenger to London to inform him that his pursuit of my fiancée is at an end.”

“Do you think that’ll be the end of it?”

“I do.”

Fergus gave a conciliatory gesture. “Very well, then. It seems as if you have everything all planned out.”

“Once I decided to ask Rose to marry me, I gave a lot of thought to the whys and hows.”

“And you’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you have my blessing. But I suppose it’s my duty to inform you that if you hurt my cousin in any way, I’ll be forced to call you out.”

Ian grinned. “I’m glad to know her family loves her so much, but you have no cause for concern. I intend to do my best to make her very happy with her choice of husband.”

“Good. See that you do. When do you leave for Gallifrey?”

“Tuesday.”

“I expect you’ll call on Rose tomorrow and Monday?”

“I’d like to see her as much as possible, yes.”

“Then consider yourself invited to dinner those nights, as well. Tonight included.”

“Thank you.”

Fergus waved a hand. “It’s no problem. Simply a welcome to the newest member of our family.”

~*~O~*~

Rose was in a daze as she walked up to the nursery where she knew Osgood would be. She had to talk to someone, and soon, to sort out what had just happened, or she thought her racing mind might run away with her. She was engaged. Engaged! And to a duke! No, that wasn’t quite right. He was a duke, yes, but he was _Ian._ Her friend. 

He was also the only man she’d ever been attracted to, and now he was going to be her husband - but in name only. Rose didn’t mistake the meaning of what Ian had said. He didn’t want children and they wouldn’t be sharing a marital bed. She was disappointed by that, if she were being honest. She’d always envisioned herself as a mother at some point, but now that seemed to be out of the realm of possibility. 

No matter, she thought, shaking herself a little before she sank into a bout of melancholy. She’d always have little Daniel to dote on, and whatever other children Fergus and Osgood had. Surely she could work out whatever maternal instincts she had on her cousin’s children, couldn’t she? Of course she could. It would be fine. 

Rose pushed open the door to the nursery and found Osgood sitting in one of the chairs, little Daniel on her lap, reaching for her necklace. She smiled at the cozy scene they presented, brushing aside the prickle of regret that this scene would never play out for _her_. 

“Rose!” Osgood greeted her with a smile, adjusting the baby on her lap. “I figured you’d be in the library. What brings you up here?”

“Wanted to chat with you, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it’s alright. What’s on your mind?”

“Ian was here. The Duke of Gallifrey, I mean. He proposed to me.”

Osgood’s eyes got wide and Rose felt herself flushing. 

“What did you say?”

“I accepted, of course.”

Rose had expected squealing felicitations, but her cousin’s wife surprised her with her shrewd look and narrowed eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m… I’m not sure, entirely. I feel lots of different things all at once. Is that normal? Is that how you felt when Fergus proposed?”

“I was overjoyed when your cousin proposed to me, but I can see where one’s mind might be muddled. Come,” she said, indicating the chair nearest her. “Sit down and we’ll talk this through.” 

Rose did as requested, giving an absent smile when Daniel babbled at her. Once she was sitting comfortably, Osgood spoke again. 

“What are you feeling? I understand that it’s a jumble, but maybe you should try naming the emotions, and that will help sort them out.”

That made sense to Rose, and she nodded. “I’m feeling… nervous, I suppose. Surprised. I never dreamed he’d ask me to marry him - not really. I’m relieved that with my marriage, Lord Stone will be completely out of the picture.”

“All of that makes sense. What are you nervous about? The wedding night?”

She glanced hurriedly at Osgood, taking in her kind eyes, and debating at lightning speed whether to reveal the conditions under which she’d agreed to marry Ian. Deciding that might be a conversation better saved for later, she nodded. 

“Yes, there’s that, but more that I don't know how to be a duchess. I’m a tradesman’s daughter raised in London. I know nothing about running a country estate.”

Osgood laid a gentle hand on Rose’s. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant as a duchess, and I’m equally sure His Grace wouldn’t have asked you to take on the role if he weren’t as confident in your abilities as I am.” 

Rose sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am. Rose, everything you’ve expressed sounds reasonable for a woman to feel immediately after accepting a proposal. But do you know what I haven’t heard?”

“What?”

“You haven’t said you were excited or happy about the idea. That’s a bit concerning to me, and I know it will be concerning to Fergus, too. We want you to be happy.”

Rose searched her feelings for a moment, but it didn’t take long. This wasn’t what she’d expected, in any way, but she couldn’t deny that she was excited by the idea. She’d be married to her friend, someone with whom she could share ideas and experiences, who would be supportive of her. He wanted a marriage of convenience, and she would give that to him. She didn’t understand why, exactly, he wanted to keep their union strictly platonic, but she supposed he had his reasons. They wouldn’t be lovers, and she was a little disappointed by that. She’d never be a mother, and she was _more_ than a little disappointed by _that._ But she’d spend her life with her friend, and _that_ made her happy. 

She smiled, genuine warmth blooming within her. “I am. I’m happy. Ian has been a wonderful friend and I’m sure he’ll make a wonderful husband, as well. It was just rather unexpected.”

Osgood relaxed a little. “Then I’m happy for you. And now we get to plan a wedding! Oh, we’ll have to have another new dress made, something special for the occasion. And of course, we’d like to get to know him a bit better before you’re wed.”

“Ian was going to speak with Fergus after he left me.”

“Then hopefully, my husband has remembered his manners and invited the Duke to dinner.”

Rose hoped so, too. She’d only seen him a little while ago, when he’d proposed, but she was already looking forward to seeing him again. Whatever was she going to do when he left to go to Gallifrey?

~*~O~*~

Conversation at dinner was lively, Fergus and Ian getting along like houses and acting like long-lost friends, but Rose was a bit circumspect. Her mother would have accused her of brooding, but that wasn’t the case. She wasn’t entirely sure _how_ to act. She was soon to be a duchess and knew that meant she needed to behave differently - Ian would almost certainly expect her to be proper and appropriate - but how should she act? Her mother would have known, or at least had some idea. Maybe Clara would know.

“Ian tells me he hopes to be married sooner rather than later,” Fergus was saying. 

She shot a quick look at Ian to see him nodding. “I would like that,” he said, “but, of course, the decision rests largely on Rose’s shoulders.”

“Well, it will take three weeks to post the banns, won’t it?” Rose asked.

“Yes, that’s traditional. We don’t have to observe tradition if you don’t want to, but I’d like to, if we can. That will give me time to get Gallifrey prepared for you.” His eyes twinkled a bit. “And, of course, Donna will appreciate the extra time to plan festivities.”

Fergus laughed. “I’m afraid your sister may have some competition. Osgood seems keen to plan this wedding, herself.”

Rose gave a little smile when Osgood swatted her husband lightly. 

“No need to worry, Osgood,” Ian said with a charming smile that made Rose’s heart flutter a bit. “My sister is usually quite agreeable - with people who aren’t me. I’m sure you’ll find that she’s delighted to work with you to plan a lovely event - or five, knowing her.”

Rose swallowed. 

“And Rose, of course,” Osgood said politely but firmly. “As it’s her wedding, surely she should have the final say over everything.”

“Rose can have whatever she wants,” Ian said, then turned and took her hand from where it rested on the table. Her heart tripped over itself at his touch. His blue-green eyes were sincere when he said to her, “Your only limit is your imagination, sweetheart. Anything you desire for this wedding, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, not quite sure what else to say. She was completely distracted by the weight of his hand around hers, and the stroke of his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I’m assuming your sister will want to throw an engagement party?” Fergus remarked lightly.

“She may, but I likely won’t be here for it, since I’ll be gone for the next couple of weeks. But I’m not worried. I’m sure she’ll find some way to get the word around about this, anyway. Knowing her, she probably won’t be able to stop talking about it.”

There was a small knock at the door and every head turned to find James standing at the entrance to the dining room. “So sorry to interrupt, there’s a message for the Duke.”

Ian’s hand left Rose’s to extend and take the folded note James presented, and he read it hurriedly. Once he was finished, he folded it and tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t retake Rose’s hand, and she felt a pang of disappointment.

“Everything alright?” Fergus asked. 

“Everything’s fine. My manservant has arrived from London and wanted to let me know he was here.”

“Do you need to go?”

“No, no. He’s at Donna’s and they’ll get him settled. I can see to him after dinner. It’s fine.”

Dinner continued and Rose remained fairly quiet, speaking only when spoken to. She was preoccupied with her elocution, attempting to live up to the title she was about to gain. Ian had mentioned her not shaming him. Surely that was what he’d meant, that she’d have to conduct herself properly to avoid bringing embarrassment down on him. That was a bit of a surprise to her, since she’d never sensed he was a stickler for society’s rules, but it was different for a wife, she knew. She wanted to be the best she could be and make him proud. He was giving her everything she’d ever dared dream of - except children. The least she could do was be what he expected of her. 

She was so quiet and distracted that she caught curious looks from everyone, as if they were concerned for her, but just gave smiles in return. What could she say?

When dessert was completed, Ian turned to Fergus. “If you don’t mind breaking with tradition, I’d like to speak with Rose for a few moments, before I have to take my leave.”

“Of course,” Fergus said with a smile. “You can have use of the blue parlor.”

“Thank you,” Ian said, getting to his feet. “I promise to be more sociable during upcoming visits.”

“No trouble at all. Rose?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll be in the lounge when you finish, if you’d like some company.”

“Thank you.”

Ian held her chair out for her and she got to her feet, then followed him out of the room. They walked together in silence to the blue parlor, and Ian stood aside to let her go before him. Once she was in, he followed and pulled the door until it was nearly closed.

“Are you alright?” he asked at once. 

Rose looked over to see that his eyes were etched with concern, and he looked genuinely worried. She smiled gently. “I’m fine.”

“You were nearly silent all through dinner. That’s not like you. Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Nothing like that. It just… it occurs to me that I’m going to be a duchess soon, that I should start acting like one. But I have no idea how duchesses act. I’ve never been around one. I’m afraid of shaming you.”

Ian stepped forward with a warm smile and a chuckle, taking her hand in his. “Sweetheart, I don’t expect you to be like every other duchess I’ve ever known. I want you to be comfortable - and to be you.”

“But there’s no way I’ll get this right.”

“I don’t expect you to. If you get it wrong sometimes, I don’t care. Just do what feels appropriate in any given situation and that will be what _this_ duchess does. You can set the trend. How about that?”

She nodded despite being even more confused and not entirely sure she believed him, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Alright,” she said with a smile. 

“Good. Now, given that I’m going to be gone for a while, I thought it best if we had a wedding date set before I leave. I was thinking the twenty-ninth of September - Michaelmas. What do you think?”

A month seemed like a short amount of time to plan a wedding, but Rose knew it wasn’t. With the help of Osgood and maybe even Lady McAvoy, it would be feasible. She nodded. “Of course. Michaelmas will be lovely.”

“How do you feel about being married at Gallifrey, instead of here in town?”

“That’s fine as well.”

Ian looked at her curiously. “Is it really? I want you to have what you want.”

Rose gave him a conciliatory smile. “Yes, of course. Gallifrey will be my home, it makes sense to be wed there. Is there a church?”

“A kirk, yes, or we can get married at the ducal estate. Either is fine with me.”

“Well, I’ve never seen either one, so I’m not in a position to make a decision.”

Ian seemed to consider this. “Why don’t you ask Donna for input? I’m sure she’d love to recommend a location.”

“That sounds lovely. Should I… should I call on her?”

“You absolutely can. It’s perfectly proper for you to call on her. I do ask that you give me a day to tell her that we’re engaged.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t told her?”

“No, I didn’t. I assumed the first person to know should be the woman I wanted to marry, don’t you agree?”

She flushed a little, then teased, “You don’t think she’ll be disappointed that she didn’t get to choose your bride?”

Ian’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps, but she’ll get over it very quickly. I doubt she’ll even be surprised when I tell her. In fact, she all but suggested I propose to you.”

“She did?” she asked, surprised.

“She did. And I’m _glad_ she did,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. 

Rose was glad, too, and very much enjoying the feel of his hand wrapped around hers. It felt almost like… well. No use thinking about that.

“When will you leave for Gallifrey?”

“Tuesday. I’m not sure exactly how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll be back to see you at least once.”

“How far away is it?”

“Half a day’s journey north, so not too far.”

“No, not far at all.”

Ian was quiet for a moment, then squeezed her hand again to get her attention. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your favorite color. One of the tasks I intend to see to while I’m at the estate is preparing your rooms.”

“I’m sure whatever you have there already is fine,” she demurred. 

“Alright, I’ll let you see to it yourself. That would be best, anyway. As I told you, you’ll have an entire wing of the estate to do with as you please. We can hire a decorator from Glasgow to come up after the wedding, if you like.”

She should have been thrilled that he was so willing to spoil her – any other woman likely would have been – but she couldn’t help but feel a pang at the reminder that she wouldn’t share _his_ room. Better get used to that, she decided. 

“Ian?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Her cheeks were burning, but she felt she had to get this out. Better for her to know what to expect than to be left wondering. “You called me sweetheart at dinner, in front of Fergus and Osgood, and you kissed my hand in parting. Am I to assume you don’t want people to know that this is a marriage in name only?”

He looked contemplative for a moment. “I’d prefer my sister not know, or she’ll be pestering both of us for an heir. Whomever you choose to tell is up to you: I won’t dictate your confidences. But I’m not trying to perpetrate a fraud on our family and friends. That’s not why I call you sweetheart and touch you.”

“Why, then?” she asked, her heart pounding in her throat. 

Ian smiled gently. “I feel genuinely affectionate towards you. There’s no hidden agenda, I simply care about you.”

Rose was more confused than ever, but didn’t say so. Why on earth did he want a marriage of convenience, if he felt affectionate towards her? It made no sense to her. But she didn’t ask him why, that would be too embarrassing. She just nodded. “Alright.”

He looked up at the clock on the mantle. “I really should be going, I need to try to talk to Nardole before he retires after six days of travel. I’ll be sending him back to London this coming week to… tend to business there.”

“I thought he was just arriving from tending to business for you?”

“This business involves you,” Ian explained. “Is there anything he can do for you while he’s there? Any letters or anything that need to be delivered? Do you have more possessions that you want shipped to Gallifrey?”

“Yes, I had intended to have the house packed and moved whenever I married.”

“Nardole can oversee that,” Ian said confidently. “You needn’t worry.”

“But I don’t know Nardole,” she protested lightly. “I’d intended to send a letter to my solicitor and have him oversee it.”

“Sweetheart, to trust me is to trust Nardole. He can work with your solicitor and won’t let anything happen to your possessions. I promise they’ll be in pristine shape when they arrive at Gallifrey.”

She nodded. “I trust you.”

Ian smiled at her and she felt her heart flip. “I’d like to call on you tomorrow, if that’s alright. I can pick up a letter from you to your solicitor at that time.”

“Of course. That would be lovely.”

“Then I bid you goodnight.” He took the hand he held and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss along the knuckles. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Rose stammered something, she was never sure what, and Ian winked at her before he took his leave. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the blue parlor, staring at the door he had just exited, wondering at the way her blood felt like it was fizzing in her veins.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s my birthday...have an extra chapter!

31 August 1823

Ian was standing in front of the mirror, tying his cravat, when he heard a voice behind him. 

“Careful with that now, Doctor, the dressing yourself. You keep doing my job and they’ll put me out on the street.”

He spun around to greet his bald, pudgy manservant with a smile. “Nardole! I was just coming to find you, since you’d apparently collapsed in a heap last night upon arrival.”

“Well, long trips are exhausting. How was yours?”

“Eventful,” Ian said, thinking of Rose and feeling a little warmth bloom in his chest. “I need to talk to you. Please, come have a seat.” He gestured to the seat across from him, in front of the fireplace. Once Nardole was settled, he started. “Now, don’t kill me, but I need you to go back to London.”

“What? Doctor! I just got here!”

Ian held up placating hands. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. But circumstances here require someone in London, and you’re the only one I trust.”

That bit of ego-stroking appeared to have worked, because Nardole puffed up just a bit. “Of course I am. What do you need?”

“Well, this may come a shock to you, but I’ve decided to marry.”

“Marry!?”

“Yes. Miss Rose Tyler, the young lady we met in London who was looking for passage to Glasgow. I’ve asked her to be my wife and she’s accepted.”

Nardole looked confused. “Did you compromise her?”

“No, no. Not at all. But I need a wife, as you’re so fond of pointing out, and she needs a husband. We got on rather well, and it just made sense. I’m not unhappy with the decision I’ve made.”

“Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order. I take it I need to go back to London to tend to her affairs?”

“Yes. She left a home there with a solicitor to oversee her business. I need you to deliver a letter to the solicitor then oversee the packing of her belongings for their transport to Gallifrey. You have all the time and capital you need to get her things there safely.”

Nardole nodded. “Alright. Is that all?”

“No, that’s not… quite it. There was a man in London, a Lord James Stone. He pursued Rose and wanted to marry her, but he also robbed her and her family blind. She was fleeing him when we met her, running to Glasgow to avoid marrying him. I’ll have a letter for you to deliver to him, along with a message.”

“What message?”

Ian’s voice was steely. “His pursuit of Rose is at an end. She will be marrying me at the end of next month, and neither of us ever want to see or hear from him again. The money he embezzled will be forgotten as long as he forgets he ever knew her. If he makes any attempt to see her or communicate with her, I will swoop down with the full force of law to recoup the money he stole, and there may be other consequences, as well.”

One of Nardole’s eyebrows shot up. “Other consequences?” 

“Yes, other consequences. Feel free to convey as much menace as you like when you deliver that particular portion of the message.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“I’ll have the necessary letters and paperwork for you by tomorrow, and your passage is paid for Tuesday to London. In the meantime, enjoy your time in Glasgow. When you come back, we’ll be at Gallifrey for the foreseeable future.”

Nardole gave him a shrewd look. “You don’t seem as glum about that as you did the last time I saw you. Up until now, you’ve compared your impending time at Gallifrey to a prison sentence.”

Ian thought of Rose and gave an absent little smile. “The circumstances of my confinement have changed.”

“Could it be you’re enchanted by the warden?” Nardole asked with a smirk. 

Ian scoffed. “Get out of here and stop bothering me.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

~*~O~*~

2 September, 1823

Rose was in the library, looking for books about running a country estate and coming up empty, when James appeared at the door and cleared his throat.

“Lady McAvoy for you, Miss.”

She sighed a little, sliding the book in her hands back into its place. She hadn’t seen Ian’s sister since the ball, and had only shared a few words with her there. Ian had assured her that his sister was lovely – as long as she wasn’t addressing him – and was thrilled by the idea of their impending marriage. Rose had heard nothing from Osgood to indicate she was anything other than friendly, but the idea of spending time with this woman she didn’t know was a bit daunting. Nevertheless, she was here and it was time to see her. “Yes, of course. Lead the way.”

James led her to the blue parlor, where the Marchioness waited, sitting on one of the settees. She smiled warmly when she saw Rose, and the younger woman relaxed a little. The Marchioness got to her feet and Rose remembered her manners, curtseying politely. 

“Good afternoon, m’lady.”

“Oh, none of that,” the ginger woman said, waving her hand, motioning for Rose to get up. “We’re to be sisters at the end of this month, and I suspect we’ll also be the best of friends. You’ll call me Donna, and I’ll call you Rose.”

“Yes, of course,” Rose agreed, sensing this woman was just as formidable as her brother indicated. But she smiled with warm eyes, and Rose was comforted. Maybe they _would_ be the best of friends. It would be nice to be on good terms with Ian’s family. Doing so would certainly help ease her transition to duchess.

“May I offer you some tea?” she asked, gesturing for Donna to sit. 

“No, thank you, perhaps in a little while,” Donna smiled, taking her seat. “I wanted to talk with you, get to know you a bit. All I know is what my brother has told me, and he got frustrated with me when I pressed for more information about you. I know that the two of you met in London, then you shared a coach to Glasgow. Is that right?”

“Yes. I was looking to book passage to Glasgow and my maid mistook Ian for a worker at the carriage inn.” Rose laughed nervously, flushing at the memory. “He offered to share with us, although we didn’t know at the time it was a private coach. Once we arrived in Glasgow and I realized what he’d done, he refused any sort of compensation for our passage. Said having us along had been his pleasure.”

Donna was giving her a soft, understanding smile. “Ian may seem gruff and somewhat grumpy to people who don’t know him well, but once you get to know him, he’s the kindest man you could ever hope to meet.”

Rose’s brow furrowed a bit. “I’ve never known him to be gruff or grumpy. He’s always been incredibly kind to me.”

Donna’s eyes fairly gleamed with satisfaction. “That’s good to know. He tells me your father was a tradesman?”

A flush reddened her cheeks. “Yes, my mother was gentry, but my father was in business. He owned a health drink company. I - I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course it’s alright, dear. The Docherty family are many things, but we’re not snobs. You’ll be welcome - a breath of fresh air.”

Rose relaxed a little. “I do hope so.”

“I understand you didn’t have your season because of the death of your parents?”

“That’s correct. My father died in a carriage accident just before I turned eighteen. My mother fell ill just after her mourning period ended. She was sick for nearly a year, then passed away this past February.”

Donna leaned forward and covered Rose’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry, dear. I was young when I lost my parents, as well. It’s a terrible thing.”

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile. “My father’s death was a shock, since it was an unexpected accident. But my mother… well, she was ill for a long time, and I think towards the end, she just wanted to go to sleep and be at peace.”

“That’s understandable,” Donna said. “Still, it can’t have been easy on you, being young and unmarried and suddenly without parents.”

“It was… difficult,” she acknowledged. “But it’s given me life experience now, which I appreciate.”

Donna squeezed her hand once, then let it go and sat up. “You’re a wise young woman,” she said, green eyes sparking with something like pride. “Ian is a lucky man.”

Rose flushed. “I daresay I’m the lucky one.”

The other woman scoffed. “We’ll see about that. Now, we need to discuss your wedding, but Ian told me that your cousin’s wife would like to be involved?”

“Yes, she would. Shall I ring for her?”

“Please do. We have much to go over.”

Rose sent for Osgood, and within a few minutes she was bustling into the blue parlor, smoothing her hair hurriedly, dropping into a little curtsey in front of Donna. Just as she had with Rose, Donna waved her off and insisted she be called by her given name.

Osgood rang for tea and the three women made small talk for a little while, mostly harmless gossip about the season and who was courting whom. It was all very interesting but Rose felt a little out of her depth, considering she didn’t know any of the people they were discussing. She supposed she’d better learn, however, and did her best to keep up with the names being mentioned. 

“Of course,” Donna concluded with twinkling eyes, “the biggest news of the season is the return of the Duke of Gallifrey. Or at least it was, until he let it be known that he’d be marrying a young woman from London. That has certainly set tongues to wagging.”

Rose’s eyes were wide. “ _I’m_ being gossiped about? But I’m hardly gossip-worthy…”

“None of the gossip about you is unpleasant or mean-spirited, dear. Most people are simply curious about you. You’re an unknown entity, but they’ll get to know you as time wears on. I intend to make sure of that.”

“I don’t see how. Ian made it fairly clear that we’d spend most of our days at Gallifrey.”

“And you will, but I have nearly a month with you here in Glasgow before Ian steals you away. I hope you enjoy parties, Rose, because I plan to keep you busy for the next couple of weeks.”

Rose cast an uncertain look at Osgood, who looked amused. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to join you every night. My chaperone’s just had a baby…”

“We’ll make it work,” Osgood cut in. “Either Fergus or myself should be able to take a night off and make ourselves available to attend events with you.”

“And what nights they aren’t available, I’ll serve as your chaperone,” Donna volunteered.

“You?” Rose asked, her eyes wide.

“Of course, me. You’re going to be my sister-in-law in a matter of weeks. It’s perfectly proper.”

Sensing there was nothing for her to do but agree, Rose did so - reluctantly. “Very well, I think I have enough dresses to allow me to attend a few events with you.”

“There will be more than a few events. We’ll likely be at some sort of gathering every night. Perhaps you should order more dresses.”

Immediately, Rose’s mind went to the cost of ordering even more new dresses, but Osgood squeezed her hand, reading her mind. 

“The Duke left behind a sizeable stipend to see to whatever needs you had until he returns,” she reminded Rose. 

“And he charged _me_ with making sure you use it,” Donna chimed in. “New party dresses are exactly the sort of thing he was thinking of.”

“I thought that money was to be used for wedding expenses.”

“It’s to be used to see to your comfort while he’s away, _as well as_ wedding expenses.”

“But it’s so much,” she protested. “I don’t need --”

“Stop,” Donna commanded, her hand in the air. “Stop right there. Rose, you’re going to be the Duchess of Gallifrey at the end of this month. It’s time you start getting used to having more than enough.”

Rose digested that for a minute. She’d never gone without as a child, her life had actually been comfortable, but the amount of money Ian had left behind ‘to see to her comfort’ was downright decadent. She didn’t need that much. But she supposed Donna was right, too, and she should get used to it. This was her life now.

“You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, dear girl. It’s a mark to your good character that you’re thrifty and not trying to bleed my brother dry the way most women would.”

“Thank you. I have no intention of bleeding him. With that in mind, I would be more comfortable if most of the money spent went to wedding preparations. And I don’t mind buying dresses for parties, but I would like for them to be serviceable, as well.”

“That’s no problem,” Donna agreed, and Osgood nodded. “How many evening dresses do you have?”

“Three.”

“I think two more should do it, don’t you think, Osgood?”

“I think so.”

“When would you like to have your engagement party?”

“I thought that was off the table, with Ian gone most of the time between now and the wedding.”

“Oh, no, dear. I made it abundantly clear to him this morning before he left that he needed to be available for an engagement party for the two of you, hosted by me. He grumbled a bit, of course, but agreed readily enough.”

“Well, if Ian is alright with it…”

“Excellent! When would you like to do it? I suggest a week or so before the wedding.”

“Whenever you choose is fine, as long as Ian can be there.”

“Of course. We’ll give him plenty of notice so he can join us. What color would you like your wedding dress to be?”

“I’m not sure. It’s supposed to be a light color, is it not?”

“That’s traditional, yes. Mine was a mint green,” Donna offered.

“Mine was a pale blue,” Osgood supplied. “I wore it to the ball this past weekend, as a matter of fact.”

Rose nodded, remembering the dress in question. “Well, what’s Ian’s favorite color?”

“Red,” Donna supplied. “So that won’t do at all. But it’s not he who has to wear it, dear, it’s you. What color would _you_ like?”

She was drawing a blank, nothing coming to her right away, but thankfully Osgood stepped in. “You look lovely in pink, dear. You could wear a pale pink gown with white lace. That would be quite becoming.”

Pink _was_ her favorite color. She nodded, smiling. “Pink sounds lovely.”

“Wonderful,” Donna said brightly. “We can base the rest of the colors around that.”

“For flowers?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know that we need to have flowers shipped from Glasgow, just for a wedding…”

“They won’t have to be shipped. Gallifrey has a conservatory _and_ an orangery, so there are plenty of fresh flowers year round. Will you want to be married at the manor or in the kirk?”

“Well, I always imagined being married in a church…”

“The kirk it is,” Donna said, smiling. “And you’re going to love it. There’s never been a more picturesque little kirk than the one on the outskirts of Gallifrey Town.”

Rose nodded because she couldn’t think of what else to do.

“And of course, we’ll have a breakfast at the mansion after the wedding, then a ball that night to celebrate.”

Her eyes widened. “A ball?”

“Of course, with the guests that have traveled from Glasgow and the local gentry. Shouldn’t be more than a hundred people.”

A hundred people in her brand new home on the day she got married. It all seemed a bit overwhelming, but perhaps she should thank her lucky stars. At least she would have something to do on her wedding night, since she wouldn’t be having the _traditional_ wedding night. Maybe she could dance herself into a dreamless sleep. 

“A ball sounds lovely,” she said with a smile. “Will I have enough room to host that many people?”

Donna gave a tinkling laugh. “Dear, you’re going to have enough room to host three times that many people. House most of them, too. Gallifrey is no cottage in the country.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said, flushing. “I apologize for my ignorance.”

“Ian hasn’t told you about Gallifrey?”

Rose shook her head. “Not much, no.”

The redhead tsked. “He should have done so. I’m sorry my brother seems to shirk his responsibilities so often, Rose. Hopefully now that he’s taking a wife and settling down, he’ll grow out of that.”

Rose wanted to defend Ian somehow, but didn’t know what she could possibly say. So she remained silent and gave a short nod.

“Will you allow me to tell you about your new home?”

Rose smiled. “Please. I’d like to learn as much as I can.”

“My pleasure. I love talking about home. And you’re going to love it, Rose. It’s the most beautiful estate in the world…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incomparable Rose--Nebula made some fan art for this story, but for some reason, I can't get it to post!! Maddening. You can see it by clicking [here](https://www.deviantart.com/rose--nebula/art/Regency-788386754?fbclid=IwAR3NhEOIw7G0WCd6mgo0L6upgIa1ZeGy-D9cYDVkWaA8IxfE3oqwHCOFRZo), and I highly recommend you do so! Leave it some love!!

_4 September 1823_

_My Dearest Rose,_

_I have arrived in Gallifrey as of Tuesday afternoon, two days ago. The journey was pleasant, I suppose, but I sorely missed your company. Coming home has been bittersweet: memories, both good and bad, seem to fill every nook and cranny._

_It occurs to me that I’ve never told you much about the estate that is to be your home. Please let me correct that oversight. Gallifrey is a large estate of about 17,000 acres. It boasts three villages and a town, officially named Gallifrey, but more commonly known as Gallifrey Town. The manor house is situated on 22 acres on the outskirts of the town, with a conservatory, an orangery, stables on the grounds, and a fishing pond nearby. The primary exports of Gallifrey are livestock, cereal grains, and spirits. One of the villages (located on the Cadonflood river) is home to a grist mill, and Gallifrey Town itself has a distillery. I learned shortly after my arrival that the Town’s doctor died not long ago and none have replaced him. While his passing is sad - he was my doctor as a child - it has delighted me to know that I will be able to use my medical training while here at home._

_The land agent who has been running the estate is a transplanted Welshman named Ianto Jones. My brother hired him a little over ten years ago, after the old land agent who had served my father retired. Brax was always happy with his choice, but I never took much notice of the goings on of the estate, so I never really got to know the man. I confess to having been apprehensive about the state of Gallifrey when I arrived, particularly after my negligence, but so far, everything seems to be in order. It appears that Mr. Jones has done a fine job since my brother’s death and in my absence, and I am relieved._

_The one area where Mr. Jones’ stewardship has been (understandably) lacking is at the manor house. There is currently only a skeleton crew of staff working: the housekeeper, a butler, a maid, a cook, and a kitchen maid. As I’m sure you’ll agree, this will not do for when we are in residence, which we will be most of the time. I am hesitant to hire much staff without your input, considering they will also be in your employ, but in order to make ready for you and the wedding, I’m going to rehire some of the former staff and fill the gaps with temporary hires. You may determine who stays and who goes when you arrive._

_I took the liberty of inspecting the wing of the house that will be yours. It was my mother’s domain when she was alive, but she has been gone for twenty years, and even I know that the decorations and furnishings are dreadfully out of fashion - more so than I expected. They will be serviceable until we can hire a decorator to come up from Glasgow and make the changes you want. Most of the rest of the house seems to be in a fair state of repair (albeit still draped in dust covers from lack of use) but my brother didn’t do much to upgrade the house during his tenure as Duke and improvements or refurbishment would be quite welcome. As Duchess, it will be up to you to change things or keep them the same as you see fit. Gallifrey will be your home, and I want you to be completely happy here._

_Have you ever had a task set before you, a large, arduous task, and in your mind, you hear your own voice whispering that you’ll never be able to complete it, that you aren’t equal to it? That’s the situation I currently find myself in, and I’m not entirely sure how to silence the traitorous voice in my mind that seeks to undermine my confidence. I’m quite sure that once I get a feel for what I’m doing, I’ll do fairly well (particularly with you by my side), but the mistakes I’m bound to make in the interim plague me, even though I haven’t even made them yet. Mr. Jones has done such a remarkable job, perhaps I’m doing what my mother would have called ‘borrowing trouble’. Hopefully, when you arrive, you’ll be able to help me quash the doubting._

_I must go. It is late and I have an early morning appointment with Mr. Jones to tour some of the farms and meet the tenants. I have decided to come back to Glasgow next Thursday for a brief visit to see you, then I’ll return home to Gallifrey on Sunday. Perhaps it’s foolish for me to make such a long trip for such a short time, but I find myself missing your smile and your laughter. I can’t wait until you are here._

_Ever yours,_  
_Ian_

~*~O~*~

_7 September 1823_

_Dear Ian,_

_I’m not sure that writing to you isn’t a useless endeavor, given that you will be here Thursday night and we can speak then. But the fact that your letter from Gallifrey arrived so swiftly gives me hope that a letter from Glasgow may arrive in your hands rapidly, as well, so here I go._

_Your sister has taken me under her wing (in several ways) and has continued to launch me into Glasgow society, albeit as a nearly-married woman, and not one in the market for a husband. I’ve attended a ball or a musicale or a play every night since you left, until this one when I begged off. I’m having a lovely time, but poor Fergus and Osgood are taking turns to escort me. Donna insists she’s a perfectly appropriate chaperone, but I feel odd placing such a responsibility on her. I felt it only kind to give my cousins a break and an evening at home._

_Donna always introduces me as her ‘sister-in-law-to-be’ and lets everyone know that I’m engaged to her brother, the Duke. It’s remarkable to see people’s dispositions change when they realize the woman they’re talking to will be a duchess, and I find myself uncomfortable with the attention. Donna assures me I will get used to it and soon won’t even notice, but I can’t imagine such a time. How do you deal with the attention that being the Duke brings you? Is Donna right, and I will learn to adapt?_

_I am looking forward to seeing Gallifrey. Donna has painted such a lovely picture of it in my mind, and your letter did much the same. Please don’t hold off on doing the tasks that need to be done in order to wait for me and my input. I’ve never hired staff, and as long as there is room for Clara, I have no other requests. If you insist on me redecorating, I will be happy to oblige you, but please know that I’m quite easy to please and I’m sure that whatever is existing will be more than adequate. I’m not trying to make major changes in your life._

_Donna has scheduled an engagement party for us on the twenty-fourth of this month. I told her that you may not like the idea, but she insisted and said that if you didn’t like it, you could take it up with her. I didn’t argue further. She also informed me that during your short visit this week, you and I would be attending a musicale and a ball. Once again, I told her you may protest, but she seemed indifferent to my concern. I can only assume this is the way you two are all the time. I do hope I’m not a bone of contention between you._

_Regardless of what we do in the evenings, I’m very much looking forward to your company. It will be nice to see you again, and to talk to you._

_Yours,_  
_Rose Tyler_

~*~O~*~

24 September, 1823

Ian took a certain amount of satisfaction in having spoiled his sister’s opportunity to give him another lecture about his shortcomings, even if that hadn’t been his intention. Donna had been prepared for battle regarding an engagement party, but Ian had surprised her and nearly everyone else by being in favor of the idea. Rose had seemed excited about a ball in their honor, and as long as she was happy, he was happy. He didn’t waste much time analyzing that, other than to wonder if that would always be the case in their marriage. He suspected it would. 

Ian had missed Rose terribly while tending to his business at Gallifrey - much more than he’d anticipated. The work had kept him busy during the days, for the most part, but in the evenings, when all was quiet, he longed for her company. The halls of Gallifrey were so quiet and empty. He knew his vibrant sweetheart would fill the old building with life, and he couldn’t wait. Several times, he’d considered putting off the work he was doing so he could be in Glasgow, near her, but had talked himself out of it. He wanted her to have a wonderful wedding, something befitting a duchess, and he couldn’t provide that for her while attending balls in Glasgow. So he’d remained in Gallifrey, keeping as busy as he could to help him forget the ache brought on by her absence.

Thankfully, he’d had a little time to devote to the offices left behind by Gallifrey Town’s previous doctor, who had died in the spring. He had been pleased to find it well-stocked with everything he would need to get back to practicing medicine. His current plan was to recruit another doctor from Glasgow to come to Gallifrey Town and serve the population full-time, while Ian intended to devote at least two days a week to the practice. The town was big enough to support two doctors and Ian was excited to work in his chosen field again. It would help him connect with the people of his duchy, but beyond that, he just enjoyed medicine. He never felt more fulfilled than when he was bringing someone comfort and relief. 

Now, on the evening of his engagement party, he stood on the side of the ballroom, chatting with Rose’s cousin, Fergus, and waiting for the women to make their appearance. Ian had to admit, Fergus was fast becoming one of his favorite people. The ginger man was intelligent and well-spoken, but also sharp-witted and quick with a joke - even making occasional jokes at Ian’s expense. He didn’t mind, though. He enjoyed the light teasing and teased right back. 

Ian was just starting to wonder about Rose’s safety and debating sending someone to check on her when she appeared at the doorway to the ballroom. She was flanked by Osgood and Donna, but Ian’s gaze and his attention were captivated by his intended. All of the light in the room seemed to attach itself to her, and his breath caught. Her blonde hair was in a simple updo, but it was somehow more elegant than all of the other women’s elaborate styles. Her gown was one he hadn’t seen before, a blue the color of the sky on a summer day, and it made her cheeks even more rosy. She wore a small, curious smile as she looked out over the crowd, and Ian took the free moment just to gaze at her, to take her in. She was achingly beautiful, and in five days, she would be his. 

Well, at least in theory. Not for the first time, he cursed the maid who held his fiancée’s heart. 

Brushing that thought aside, he excused himself from the conversation with Fergus and made his way across the ballroom to where Rose stood. She caught sight of him about halfway there and her shy smile nearly stopped him in his tracks. 

Once by her side, he gave little bows to Osgood and Donna, as courtesy dictated, then bowed lower before Rose, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “You look exquisite, sweetheart,” he told her, and cherished the way she flushed at the compliment. 

“Thank you,” she answered quietly. 

“Would you care to dance? The whole evening is ours, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.” She nodded, and Ian led her out to the floor, intent on monopolizing her time for the entire night. She may never be his wife in private, but she always would be in public, and he intended to enjoy every minute he could get.

~*~O~*~

His plan to monopolize her lasted only about half an hour before she asked for refreshment. He promenaded her around to the refreshment table, then kept his hand on the small of her back while the two of them accepted congratulations and made small talk with other guests, most of whom Ian didn’t know. They all seemed to know Rose, though, and Ian credited Donna’s plan to launch Rose into society. Privately, he resolved to thank her for helping his sweetheart to make friends in a town where, until recently, she only knew her cousin.

As if summoned, Fergus appeared asking for Rose’s hand in a dance while Osgood chatted with some friends. Ian was loath to let her go, but surrendered as gracefully as he could with an impetuous kiss to her hand. She flushed again and Ian was pleased. 

“You’d best watch that,” warned a voice from behind him as Rose was led away. “Lest you start to look like one of those poor bastards who actually loves his wife.”

Ian turned around to see his cousin and put out his hand. “Harold, good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too. Last I saw you was only a few weeks ago, and you were declaring the bachelor life suited you fine.”

“It did, but I’ve come to suspect married life is going to suit me better.”

Harold laughed. “I’m too late! You’re already one of those poor bastards that loves his wife.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ian scoffed. “I swore off love two decades ago. But I can’t deny a certain ...fondness for her.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Harold agreed, then gave Rose an assessing look with a gleam in his eye Ian didn’t care for. “There is much there to be fond of.”

Anger flashed in him and he considered sniping at his cousin, but thought better of it. That wouldn’t help his defense of not being in love with her. Besides, Harold was harmless. No point in overreacting to an offhand comment that meant nothing.

“So why the rush?” Harold was asking. “Why not a long courtship and engagement, like most couples?”

“It’s a long story, but the short of it that she had an old suitor in London that she rebuffed. Ran away to Scotland to be free of him, in fact. She’s concerned he’s going to show up and cause trouble, so I offered to marry her as quickly as possible to forestall that.”

“Anyone I know? You know I’m in London fairly frequently.”

“I’m not sure. His name is Lord James Stone. A viscount, I think.”

Harold seemed lost in thought for a minute, searching his memory. “No, sorry, that’s not calling anything to mind. Of course, viscounts are plentiful down there, even more than here.”

“So I hear,” he agreed absently. His eyes were on Rose as the dance ended and Fergus promenaded her around the room. He smiled when he saw her laugh at something her cousin had said, and that earned a scoff from Harold. 

“Oh, you’re a goner.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. I’m just going to go back over here to my little corner and watch the show you’re putting on, shall I?”

It sprung to Ian’s lips to say something quite rude, but he refrained. His cousin was a good man and a friend, even if he could be a bit grating sometimes. But Harold retreating through the crowd wasn’t Ian’s concern at that moment. How could he think of anything else when Fergus was escorting Rose over to him?

Fergus gave a little bow when he arrived, smirking because he knew the bowing and scraping annoyed Ian. “Your Grace.”

“Bampot,” he said with a little bow of his own, making Fergus laugh. He grinned to himself, then turned to Rose and held out his hand for her. “Sweetheart? Care to dance again?”

She bit her lip and nodded, and Ian excused them to go back out to the dance floor.

~*~O~*~

Much, much later that night, Rose entered her room at her cousin’s, finding Clara dozing in the chair in front of the fire. She didn’t want to wake her friend, but knew she’d need help getting herself ready for bed, so she approached the sleeping woman and shook her knee gently.

“Clara? Clara, wake up.”

Clara woke with a start. “Rose! You scared me. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”

“Nearly two, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry for keeping you up late.”

“Oh, hush,” the maid admonished her, getting to her feet with a yawn and setting to work getting Rose’s dress off. “It’s no bother. I’ve been asleep in that chair for over an hour.” She yawned again hugely. “I’m wide awake now.”

Rose giggled. “I see that,” she teased. “Hopefully you won’t have any trouble getting back to sleep when you’re below stairs.”

“Hopefully not,” Clara agreed, unfastening the row of buttons at Rose’s back. “How was the ball?”

“It was lovely.”

Clara guided her to step out of the dress, then gave her a look. “How was it, really?”

“I told you, it was lovely.”

“You’re holding something back. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ , per se. I just…”

“You just what?”

Rose sighed. “I don’t understand Ian. He’s so… I don’t understand him.”

“What’s he doing that’s so hard to understand?”

“He tells me he wants a marriage of convenience and we’re not to share a marital bed. Yet he treats me like he… _cares_ for me.”

“How do you mean?” Clara asked, helping Rose shimmy into her chemise then leading her to sit at the mirror to take her hair down. 

“I mean, all night he was right by my side, unless I was dancing with someone. And it wasn’t enough that he was there with me, he always had a hand on me.”

Clara blinked at her in the mirror. “He was _touching_ you all night?”

“Yes!”

“But that’s --”

“I know! And I don’t know what to think of it. Why would he buck convention by being so affectionate with me, but not want a true marriage? I just don’t understand,” she finished, her shoulders slumping a bit.

“Maybe he _does_ want a true marriage with you, but he’s afraid to scare you.”

“What would I be scared of?”

Clara shrugged. “I don’t know, but then I’ve never professed to know how men’s minds work.”

Rose sighed again. “I just wish I knew what he was thinking.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“I guess I’d best get used to it, though. This hot and cold thing. Maybe this is my life now.”

Clara took the last pin out and started brushing Rose’s hair. “Think of it, Rose. Even if he’s confusing you, he hasn’t treated you poorly. We could have been stuck with Lord Stone. At least His Grace appreciates you and treats you kindly.”

“That’s true. I just wish…” She slumped. “I don’t know what I wish.”

“You go to sleep,” Clara soothed her. “The day after tomorrow, we’re going to our new home. A couple days after that, you’ll be married, and all of this will work itself out. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right.”


	13. Chapter 13

26 September, 1823

The day was sunny, affording Rose an excellent view out of the window. She and Ian had been granted the luxury of riding together alone in the ducal coach from Glasgow to Gallifrey, and she’d never been in such a grand carriage before. The carriage they’d shared from London to Glasgow had been fairly posh, but nothing like this. The soft seats were covered with a plush, red velvet and there was a brazier there that would make traveling in cooler weather much more comfortable. Brocade curtains framed the shining windows and the outside of the coach gleamed. It was exactly how she’d always imagined a duke would travel, but never in her wildest imaginings had she ever pictured herself traveling this way. Nor would she have ever imagined herself holding the hand of the Duke as they traveled, his thumb caressing the inside of her wrist. It was distracting beyond measure, but she was enjoying every second of the affection he showed so easily, seemingly without thinking.

“We’re coming up on Gallifrey Town,” Ian said. “Of course, it doesn’t look much different from any other town.”

“No, I suppose most towns look the same,” Rose allowed. 

They were quiet for a little longer and Rose watched the view out of the window. Their coach seemed to take a route through the center of town and Rose took in a butcher shop, a bakery, and a blacksmith. One little girl was standing with her mother in front of the greengrocer when the coach passed. She tugged excitedly on her mother’s sleeve to get her attention, then ran along for a few steps, waving at the coach. Rose smiled and gave a hesitant little wave in return. 

“The people here are very friendly,” Ian told her, having seen the exchange. “I’m sure there must be, but I don’t know of a single unpleasant person in the town. In the duchy, really. All the shopkeepers are kind people in addition to being good businessmen, and most of their families have lived in Gallifrey Town for generations.”

Rose hummed an assent because she didn’t know what else to say, and Ian seemed to accept that. They lapsed back into silence as the coach exited the town, and she looked back out the window. There were forests on the other side of the empty fields, and Rose gazed at them with curiosity. She’d never truly seen a forest before, not until her trip from London to Glasgow, although she’d read about enchanted forests all her life. These woods certainly looked as if they could be enchanted, brightly colored as they were, in autumn hues. There was a part of her that wanted to explore, but she did her best to tamp that down. She was to be a duchess in three days, and surely duchesses didn’t traipse around the forest looking for fairies or what-have-you. It was time to put aside childish notions and accept the role she was meant to fill. 

“Are you alright?” Ian asked gently from beside her, squeezing her hand. 

She gave him a tight smile, just as she had the last three times he’d asked. “I’m fine.”

“Are you excited at all?”

This was a new question, and she considered how to answer it while she took in his face. He looked apprehensive about what she would say, but earnest in his concern. His eyes were caring, much as they always were, and it softened her into a real smile. 

“Excitement is one thing I’m feeling, yes. But mostly, I’m nervous.”

“There’s no need to be nervous, sweetheart. I realize this is all new to you, but it won’t be long before it feels like home.”

She sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” he asked, and although he sounded as if he were teasing, there was a hint of real concern in his voice. 

“No, of course not. It’s just all…” She hesitated a second to try and gather her thoughts. “A lot seems to be happening at once.”

“I know. And you’re handling it all beautifully. I’m terribly proud of you.”

“You are?”

“I am,” he confirmed, and Rose felt bolstered by his confidence. 

“Not much longer now,” he informed her, peering out of the window. “In fact, you can see the house from here.”

She looked, and her breath caught. There was an enormous house - a _mansion_ \- looming ahead. Rose had never seen a home so huge - it looked as if it would take up at least two city blocks, maybe three! As they got closer, details began to emerge. The building was cut stone, most of it was three stories high, and it was obscured in some places by climbing ivy. There were more windows on the front of the manor house than she could easily count, all of them glittering in the afternoon sun. Several turrets jutted up from the uneven roofline, but none so tall as the tower in the center, where the entry doors stood open. 

The coach turned onto the circular drive in front of the house, obscuring her view, and Rose sat back in her seat, taking a deep breath. Now was the moment. When she stepped out of this coach, she’d be stepping into her new role in her new home. 

“You can do this,” Ian encouraged her. 

She smiled at him as the coach rolled to a stop at the front doors. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

“I think you’ll find that I usually am,” he told her with a wink, and she fought the urge to giggle. 

The door to the coach opened and Ian climbed out, then held his hand up for Rose to do the same. She got out of the coach, looking up with wide eyes at the house that seemed even more imposing up close, leaving her hand in Ian’s. 

“Welcome to Gallifrey, Rose Tyler,” he said in a low voice so only she could hear. She felt a spike in her pulse that had nothing to do with her anxiety and she was sure that anything she could say would come out in a squeak, so she just nodded at him. 

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” she heard, and looked over to see a dark-skinned man who seemed to have no neck dressed in a butler’s garb, standing next to four women dressed as servants. Ian nodded to the man then offered his arm to Rose. She took it, and he led her over.

“Rose, this is Strax, the butler here at Gallifrey. Strax, this is Miss Rose Tyler, my intended. She will be lady of the house on Michaelmas.”

The squat man bent over in a bow, and Rose did her best not to stare. It really did seem as if he didn’t have a neck. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Tyler. I hope you will enjoy your life here at Gallifrey. We have recently rid the land of all interlopers with the use of grenades, so you shan’t be bothered.”

Rose blinked, surprised. “Grenades?”

Ian tugged on her arm suddenly, leading her away. She looked up at him curiously. “Nevermind him, sweetheart. A bit war-obsessed, but harmless.”

Grenades didn’t seem harmless to Rose, but she didn’t argue. 

The woman Ian stopped in front of dropped into a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Tyler. I’m the head housekeeper, Madame Vastra.” 

Rose noted the slightly green tinge to her skin, but didn’t remark on it. She simply bowed her head politely and said, “Pleased to meet you.” At least this one didn’t talk about grenades.

Ian led her another couple of steps to stop in front of a pretty young woman who reminded Rose of Clara. “Afternoon, Miss Tyler. I’m Jenny, the upstairs maid.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rose said with a sincere smile. 

They met two more women, the cook (named Cook) and her kitchen maid, then Ian led Rose to the open front doors. She stepped into the foyer and looked around, her eyes wide again. It was the most lavishly appointed home Rose had ever been in, by a long measure. The walls were paneled with wood until about shoulder height, then above they were painted in a warm, dark red that stretched to the high, molded ceilings. That color was brought out by floral arrangements that sat on tables against the walls and by some of the paintings that hung there. Stately-looking gentlemen and elegant ladies looked down from the gilded frames, and Rose resisted the temptation to squirm. 

“I’d love to show you around the whole estate,” Ian was saying, and she turned her attention towards him, “but I’m afraid we’re going to be overrun with company soon. Our family’s coaches won’t be more than an hour or so behind us.”

Rose gave a little smile. “That’s alright,” she told him. “I don’t mind.”

He kissed her hand. “We have time to show you the house - or at least, the first floor. You can start picking out places to put the things from your house in London. Those carts should arrive soon, in the next week or so.”

“I’d like that.”

“When things settle a bit, we’ll go to the stables and I’ll take you on a tour of the grounds.”

“That sounds nice, too.”

“Well come along, then,” he said with a smile. “Let me show you your new home while Strax and Vastra get you settled in. I was thinking…” he started, then hesitated a bit. Rose waited patiently. “Until all the wedding guests leave and we have the house to ourselves, they’re going to install you in the suite of rooms right next to mine. It’s where the Duchess of Gallifrey traditionally sleeps and is reserved for her - in this case, you. After everyone is gone, you’re free to move into the wing my mother inhabited, but I thought it best…” He stopped and cleared his throat, looking terribly uncertain. “Is that alright?”

Rose felt a thrill all the way down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. “Yes. That’s fine.”

He smiled at her, then brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go exploring.”

~*~O~*~

Ian sat with Rose, Donna, and his brother-in-law, Lee, in the parlor his mother had favored when she was alive. While it was well-appointed, the popular style had changed drastically since it was last decorated, nearly thirty years before. Ian wondered what Rose thought, but she didn’t seem to mind what the room around her looked like. She’d had a quick look around when they came in but had been more interested in their guests, and was now chatting with Donna, but about what, he didn’t know.

In fact, he had been absent from most of the conversation since they congregated in the parlor thirty minutes prior. His mind was on the woman sitting next to him and his relationship with her. 

When he’d had the idea to marry her and proposed, he’d thought he was doing her a kindness by offering her a marriage of convenience. But the time since then, particularly the last few days, had him wondering if he’d done the wrong thing. Every little overture he’d made towards her, she’d been responsive to. She flushed prettily when he kissed her hand, she stayed closer to him than strictly necessary when he put his hand on her back to guide her (or just to touch her), and she never resisted when he took her hand to hold it in his. He’d held her hand nearly all the way to Gallifrey from Glasgow, and she’d never made a motion to remove it. He had been glad for that: her little hand fit in his as if it had been crafted to rest there, and he felt more at ease when he was touching her. Something in his very soul was soothed by contact with her. He felt more settled and capable now that Rose was here with him at Gallifrey. What was it about this young woman that left him so tranquil? He didn’t know, but he was intensely grateful that she was to be his wife in three days, and he’d be able to spend the rest of his life finding out. 

_Had_ he made a mistake by insisting on a marriage of convenience? He could no longer deny his attraction to her, and found that he didn’t really want to. He’d been gently wooing her for the last couple of weeks: at first subconsciously, but more recently with intent. Paradoxically, the closer he got to her and the more liberties he took, the more he wanted to take and the closer he wanted to get. She was everything light and beautiful, and he wanted her as his wife in every way. 

But would she want that? There was reason to hope that she would. He’d never been an expert when it came to women and their subtle flirting, but it seemed she was open to his advances. Should he push for more? Should he woo her in earnest? And if he did, how did one go about telling one’s fiancée or wife, ‘ _I know I said I only wanted to be married to you in name only but now I want to share my bed and life with you’_? He almost scoffed to himself at the idea of just blurting it out like that. Any woman - Rose included - would likely run scared at such a pronouncement. No, if he were going to do this, if he wanted her to be his wife in every conceivable way, he’d have to continue to woo her. Eventually she’d get the message. Right? Of course she would. His Rose was a bright girl. 

He looked over at her now, taking her in as she chatted with Donna, smiling proudly to himself. Tendrils of her hair had fallen loose on the drive, and lay on her shoulders delicately. He had the urge to brush them back so they wouldn’t tickle her face, but he couldn’t do that in front of anyone, especially not his sister. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed at something Donna had said, and he laughed, too - not because of Donna’s joke which he hadn’t heard, but because it brought him joy to see Rose joyful. 

By God, was he in love with his fiancée?

Ian pondered that question for a moment. He’d had a handful of relationships with women in his life, sure, but none had ever been an affair of the heart. As such, he really had nothing to compare his current emotional state to. But suddenly, love poems and romantic sonnets all seemed to make sense. For the first time in his life, his chief desire wasn’t to make himself happy, it was to make someone else happy. Doing so - knowing that Rose was pleased because of something _he_ had done - was enough to give him a deep sense of contentment unlike any he’d ever known. Was that what love was?

Well, if it was, he was definitely in love with her. 

This added a new wrinkle to the question he’d already been debating within himself. How did one confess their love to another? Should that revelation be paired with the one about his desire for a full marriage? He rather thought so, but wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps he could ask his sister. Donna was deeply romantic, something Ian had always found as a fault in her - until now. His sister and Rose had grown quite close over the last couple of weeks. She would likely be delighted to help Ian figure out how to woo Rose, although the ribbing he would get from her would be inordinate. That was alright, though. He could withstand the teasing from his younger sister if it won him Rose’s heart. 

Unable to stop himself, he slid a little closer to her on the settee and put one hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him questioningly, as if to ask if he needed something, but he just smiled in return. She smiled back at him, her pink lips curving upward, and he had the mad desire to steal a kiss from her. Would she allow it? He rather thought she might. Only one way to find out, though. He resolved to steal a kiss next time they were alone together. 

Strax appeared at the door. “Your Grace, two people have just arrived, the Earl and Countess of Prentice, claiming an acquaintance with you and expecting a room. Shall I run them through with a pike?”

“No, Strax, thank you,” Ian hastened to say, taking in Rose’s wide eyes and Donna’s barely concealed laugh. “They’re welcome guests. Please show them in. And do try to remember, Strax,” he added, “we are going to have numerous guests over the next week or so, due to the wedding. None of them are to be annihilated. They are welcome, too.” 

“If you insist, Your Grace,” Strax said with a bow, then went to fetch Fergus and Osgood. He returned a moment later with a shocked-looking Osgood and a Fergus who looked as if he were about to burst into laughter. Ian could empathize with both. 

He got to his feet and greeted Fergus, then Osgood. Rose did the same, giving Osgood a little peck on the cheek. 

“How was your trip?”

“Uneventful,” Fergus remarked. “Osgood had her nose in a book the entire time, so I just stared out the window.”

“You could have read, too,” Osgood teased back with a flush. 

“Nah. It’s more fun to let you be the brains of this marriage,” Fergus said with twinkling eyes. 

Ian was just opening his mouth to offer a glass of scotch to Fergus when Rose jumped in. “How about Clara? Strax didn’t mention her. Did she make it alright?”

He felt a pang somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, but assured himself he was being ridiculous. Asking after one’s maid was a perfectly valid thing to do. 

“She’s fine,” Osgood assured her. “Toddled off upstairs with the housekeeper as soon as we got here to supervise the unloading of your trunks.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Rose said to the rest of the room. “I think I’ll go check on her. See how her trip was.”

Ian felt as if the ground had shifted under him. He was suddenly unsteady, and wanted desperately for her to stay with him, to choose him. “But sweetheart --”

“I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him with a smile. “She’s not fond of travelling and was worried about me going without her. She’s likely to be even more worried if she’s met Strax.”

He nodded, deflating. “Of course. Go check on her. We’ll be here when you return.”

She gave him a brilliant smile, and he tried to return it, but felt sure it didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been a fool to think he could ever have her or win her heart. Her heart already belonged to another, and trying to woo her would be fruitless. He could possibly persuade her into a proper marriage, but her heart would never be in it. It would always be with Clara, and Ian, newly in love, didn’t want perfunctory. He wanted her to love him, too. 

Rose looked over her shoulder as she left the room and gave him a small smile. He waved back, his lips curling upwards, but he didn’t feel the least bit happy. He was defeated before he’d even started properly. 

If she wanted a marriage of convenience, if that’s what would make her happy, then that’s what she would have. He wouldn’t stand in her way. 

He just prayed it didn’t drive him to the brink of madness to give her what she wanted.


	14. Chapter 14

29 September, 1823

Rose was sitting on the stool in front of yet another vanity while Clara arranged her hair yet again, but if she thought she’d been nervous previous times, that was nothing compared to the way she felt now. Today was her wedding day, and she was expected to arrive at the church in just under an hour to make her vows. She could scarcely believe it. It all seemed to have happened so fast: it seemed like yesterday she was sitting in her her home in London, hatching a plan to flee to Scotland to get away from Lord Stone and now here she was, an hour away from marrying a duke. How had this happened?

There was little time to think, but Rose wouldn’t have been able to gather her thoughts even if there _had_ been time. Osgood and Donna were flitting around her room, keeping up a steady stream of conversation that kept Rose’s mind from wandering too far afield. It was hard to think of anything else when the wedding was all Donna and Osgood could talk about. Besides that, they kept trying to pull Rose into conversation, so she couldn’t let her mind wander. She needed to be present. 

Rose winced as a hair pin dug into her scalp. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Clara apologized around a mouth full of pins. “Your hair is being unruly today.”

Ordinarily, Rose may have teased, but she was too anxious to do so now. She just sat still and quiet while Clara worked. 

“The flowers turned out lovely, don’t you think, Osgood?” Donna was saying. 

“They are,” Osgood agreed, and Rose turned her head a little to admire the little nosegay Donna was holding, earning a huff from Clara. It was made up of pale pink and white roses with some greenery and blue flowers mixed in. “I never would have thought to put thistle in,” Osgood continued. “What’s that I’m smelling? It doesn’t smell like roses…”

“No, that’ll be the freesia,” Donna said. “It’s a bit stronger than the scent of the roses, but complimentary.”

“It’s lovely,” Rose assured her.

“And of course there’s the sprig of heather hidden inside the bouquet for luck. Scottish tradition.”

Rose had no idea about any Scottish tradition, she was simply doing as she was told. Everything seemed rather surreal, as if it were happening to someone else and she were just a spectator. She fought the urge to pinch herself.

“Are you nervous, dear?” Osgood asked kindly. 

“Yes… no… I don’t know,” she sighed, flustered. 

“Every bride is nervous on her wedding day,” Donna assured her, laying down the flowers. “But maybe if you tell us what’s bothering you, we can reassure you. Since we’re old, married matrons.”

Rose gave the smile expected of her at Donna’s joke. Her mind whirled with various things she could definitely use reassurance on, but none of them seemed appropriate. When the silence stretched on and it became clear that the older women expected her to voice _some_ fear related to her wedding day, Rose came up with something she could admit to without revealing too much. 

“I’m concerned about the kiss,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I know how to go about it.”

“Do you mean to tell me that my idiot brother has never stolen a kiss from you?”

Oh, how Rose wished she could give a different answer. “No, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”

Donna scoffed. “A gentleman. That’s a laugh. But back to your question - you’ve _never_ been kissed?”

“No, never.”

“It’s not hard,” Osgood stepped in. “Just close your eyes and make your lips available. He’ll do the rest.”

“I’ll know what to do?”

“Quite a lot of it’s instinct,” Donna explained. “You’ll know what to do.”

Rose wasn’t entirely sure about that, in that moment she was rather certain that she’d make an absolute fool of herself, but didn’t say so. 

“I’ll tell you this much,” Osgood said with a knowing smile. “A good kiss is one you feel all the way down to your toes.”

“A good kiss? Does that mean there are bad ones?”

“Oh good heavens, yes,” Donna laughed. “When I was fourteen, one of the stable hands I had a crush on stole a kiss. It was horrible. Wet and unpleasant. I went on from that day thinking that was just how kissing was, until I met Lee and he showed me differently,” she finished with twinkling eyes.

Rose turned to Osgood, her eyes wide. “Did _you_ have stolen kisses?”

Osgood flushed. “A couple, yes, although I never had a kiss quite like what Donna described. They were alright, I suppose, but I didn’t really _feel_ anything. Does that make sense? Until Fergus came along.”

“And it was different with him?” Rose persisted. 

“Oh, yes. Dramatically so.”

Rose turned back to the mirror, her eyes rising to meet Clara’s. “And you?”

“I don’t have much first hand experience, but I’ve been told they’re right. It’s different when there’s an attraction there.”

She pondered on that for a minute. She definitely felt attracted to Ian, but would that be enough to make it a ‘good’ kiss? What if he wasn’t attracted to her?

“But with the way I’ve seen my brother looking at you, I don’t think that will be a problem at all,” Donna said with a smirk, as if reading her mind. Rose blushed a little. “Is that all you wanted to know, dear?”

“Yes,” Rose lied with a small smile. “I feel much more at ease now.”

Donna and Osgood glanced at each other, then Osgood tried. “Is there anything… else you’re worried about that’s about to happen? You can ask us anything, you know.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But I don’t think I have any more questions.”

The older women gave each other another meaningful look, then Donna urged her, “Not even about the wedding night?”

Rose flushed to the roots of her hair, finally understanding what they were getting at. “I… I’m not…” she started, unsure what to say or how to say it. 

“It’s alright, dear,” Donna encouraged her. “That’s what we’re here for, to help get you ready.”

“My mother told me all about it,” Rose lied, the words fairly erupting from her. “I know what to expect.”

“Oh, she did?”

Rose nodded, studiously not looking at Clara, who she knew would be giving her a disapproving look for lying. In truth, she’d only heard whispers about the topic of lovemaking - enough so she had a basic idea of what happened, but no more. “Yes. Before she died. She said she knew she’d not be around on my wedding day, and wanted me to be prepared.”

“Well, that was very kind of her,” Donna said, but there was a curious look on her face. “Do you have any questions about what she told you?”

“No, thank you,” Rose told them, wishing she had cause to ask them about what happened on a wedding night, wishing she could melt through the floor, wishing the conversation would just _die_ already. 

“Very well,” Osgood said smoothly. “We won’t bother you about it anymore. It looks like Clara is nearly done with your hair…”

“Almost…” Clara said, putting the last two pins in. “There. Now we only need to add flowers after you get your dress on.”

“Speaking of, would you look at the time!” Donna exclaimed. “We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry! Quickly, Rose, let’s get your dress on. It’s time to get married!”

~*~O~*~

Ian stood at the front of the kirk, wearing his best, waiting as patiently as he could for the wedding to start. He wasn’t sure _why_ he was so impatient, exactly, since marrying Rose would change nothing about their relationship. But he suddenly understood the phrase ‘nervous as a groom’ as he waited. 

He looked down at his suit, checking one last time to make sure everything was in place and done up correctly. Nardole still hadn’t returned from his second trip to London to handle the business with Lord Stone and oversee the packing and shipment of Rose’s belongings. Normally that wouldn’t be a bother. Nardole served as his valet, sure, but Ian was well-used to getting himself dressed and rarely needed help. He’d felt compelled to ask for assistance this morning, however, considering how big a day it was, but the only servant available to ask had been Strax. The butler had been delighted to help, but had spent the whole time discussing plans for vanquishing any foes that attempted to steal Rose away from him during the wedding and how to retaliate against the pillaging of the town. Ian had thanked him for his help about halfway through and finished the job himself. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he’d done everything right, including the pinning of a single white rose to his lapel, but he’d done his best and hopefully Rose wouldn’t mind if he’d done something wrong. He did so want to please her. 

The kirk was full of people, members of the gentry who were neighbors to Gallifrey and friends of Donna’s (and Rose’s) who had come up from Glasgow. Ian tried not to squirm, standing in front of the crowd, but found himself adjusting his collar, anyway. His head snapped up when the doors at the kirk opened, and his eyes strained for a glimpse of Rose. 

It wasn’t Rose, it was Osgood walking down the aisle, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She smiled at Ian and he gave her a nod, his lips pursed, when she went to stand opposite him. 

The next person was Donna, smiling beatifically at everyone as she made her own way down the aisle. She was clearly pleased to be marrying off her brother, and it caused an odd upswell of affection for her. His daft baby sister always seemed to get her way, no matter what, and now was no different. She had wanted him to marry, and so he was.

The doors at the back of the kirk closed and Ian took a deep breath. The next person down the aisle would be Rose, the woman he loved, and he couldn’t wait to see her. Unless she’d changed her mind. 

_Please, God,_ he prayed fervently. Please don’t let her have changed her mind.

Just when Ian thought he would explode with nerves and anticipation, the doors opened and Rose stepped in, smile on her face, her arm through Fergus’, her other hand clutching a small bouquet. All at once, the breath seemed to leave his body and he relaxed a little. She hadn’t run away. She was here. She was going through with it. 

He took a moment to look at her as she walked down the aisle, and he was blown away. She wore a new gown in a pale, pale pink, trimmed with white lace and the occasional ruffle. It was by far the prettiest dress he’d ever seen, but the woman wearing it was twice as lovely. She beamed at him as she walked towards him, and he felt himself relax into the widest smile he could remember. This woman, this incredible, beautiful woman, had agreed to be his wife. He was the luckiest man in the universe. 

But he couldn’t help but lament that while she was pledging her love and fidelity to him, it would only be words. He wouldn’t truly have the vow of her heart, and she wouldn’t truly be his wife. 

He brushed that aside when she came to stand beside him, smiling up at him radiantly. She handed her bouquet to Donna, and turned back to him. At once, he took her hands into his, tracing the backs of her knuckles, just enjoying the feel of her skin under his thumbs. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to woo her with his lips and tongue until she was mindless and pledging herself to him for real, but he refrained. Even if that weren’t a laughable idea, it was still the entirely wrong place for it. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmured to her, then enjoyed the flush that stained her cheeks. Bucking tradition, he brought her hands up and kissed each one, his eyes still locked on hers. She bit her lip on a smile.

“Dearly beloved...” the minister began.

This ceremony was to bind them legally, Ian knew, and that was the _only_ way they’d be bound. He was going into this marriage well aware of the fact that his wife would never love him, _could_ never love him, but he was willing to live with that. All of this was for show, to give the illusion of their marriage to the world. The vows they were about to speak would be meaningless. 

_No_ , Ian decided to himself. She may not mean what she promised him, her heart may belong to another, but his belonged to _her_. He intended never to lie to her, ever, and certainly not today. He’d pledge his love and fidelity to her and he’d mean every word, no matter what she did. 

When the time came, he raised the ring he’d selected as a wedding ring - a single diamond circled by sapphires that had belonged to his grandmother - slid it on her third finger, and spoke his vows.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

His eyes bored into hers, hoping she’d see in them just how strongly he felt about what he’d done. She seemed to sense something, because her own eyes widened a fraction and she glanced away, as if his gaze were too intense. He squeezed her hand, enjoying the feel of her wedding ring, and looked up at the minister. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

Ian argued with himself at lightning speed. Now was the moment, and he may never have another one. He wanted to kiss her fully, to taste her, but this church-sanctioned moment was not the right one. Besides, if he were to kiss her too passionately, he might frighten her. That could set him back months. So he would kiss her chastely now and hope against all logic that he’d one day get the chance to kiss her properly. 

Rose’s face tilted up to his and her eyes fluttered closed. She couldn’t possibly know the temptation she was in that moment, but he mastered himself. Bending down, he pressed a light, chaste kiss against her upturned mouth, lingering briefly, then stood again, rattled by the way he’d felt it to his fingers and toes when their lips met. Rose’s eyes opened and she looked up at him, looking surprised, but he didn’t have time to analyze her expression. The guests were applauding. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the minister was saying, his arms open wide and a big smile on his face, “I present to you the Duke and Duchess of Gallifrey.”


	15. Chapter 15

Ian had decided during the wedding breakfast to allow himself this one day to pretend. He’d grant himself just one day to live in the fantasy that he and Rose were truly husband and wife and this was the first day of their blissful forever. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, he figured, for him to indulge himself so. Besides, he was _supposed_ to look like a besotted fool on his wedding day. Trying to pretend aloofness and keep himself from her would be much too unnatural. 

So he danced with her, held and kissed her hands when they weren’t dancing, and stood beside her with one hand proudly on her back when they talked to guests. He had monopolized her most of the day and into the evening, but if she minded, she gave no indication. In fact, it may have been his imagination, but she seemed to stand closer to him than strictly necessary. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she looked up at him, and she smiled at him nearly constantly. She seemed… happy to be with him. He certainly didn’t mind her responses to him. The closer he was to his beloved, the better. 

He wasn’t close to her now, however: she was dancing with one of their neighbors, a Marquess named Jack Harkness. Ian tried not to be jealous as she twirled around the dance floor with the handsome young lord, knowing that Lord Harkness and his solicitor, Mr. Jones, had a long-standing love affair, but could only help himself so much. Her new wedding ring twinkled when it caught the light and soothed him a bit. The smiles she kept sending him when she’d catch his eye soothed him more. 

Rose had just given him one such smile and was turning her attention back to Jack when he heard a voice beside him. “Congratulations, Ian,” Donna said. “I think you married well.”

Ian never took his eyes off his wife, but he scoffed in response. “I could have married a chambermaid and you’d be thrilled.”

“If she made you happy, then of course.”

He turned to her, away from Rose, and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “So my happiness is your ultimate goal? Not protecting Gallifrey from the nefarious clutches of Harold Saxon?”

“Of course your happiness is my goal. I’ve never done anything to lead you to believe otherwise, have I?”

“How about your insistence for years that I settle down and marry when you knew I had no desire to do any such thing?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “You’re my brother and I love you, you twit. Yes, I want to protect Gallifrey, but I want you to have what you want, and it’s clear that you’ve got it in Rose. I’m grateful for it.”

Just then, Rose’s laugh rang out across the ballroom, apparently in response to something Jack had said. Her laughter was music to him, the way it always was, although he couldn’t help a stab of envy that he wasn't the one to bring her the joy she was experiencing just then. He wanted to be the cause of her happiness all the time. As if she’d sensed his thoughts, she looked over at him and smiled brightly. He smiled back, entranced and enchanted by her. 

“How do I keep her happy, Donna?” he asked absently. 

“Don’t you know her well enough to know that?” she challenged him. 

“I’m still learning her,” he replied, watching her dance. Tearing his eyes away, he turned to his sister. “You have a happy marriage. What makes it so?”

“My husband is a wonderful man who loves me a great deal. He seeks to please me, and that alone pleases me. Does that make sense?”

“But what will please _Rose_?” he persisted. 

“You’ll learn,” Donna predicted. “Rose is a sweet-tempered girl, she won’t be terribly difficult to keep happy.”

“You’re useless,” he complained. “Utterly useless. See if I come to you for advice again.”

“You want advice? It’s incredibly simple - so simple even _you_ could do it.”

“Oi!”

“Be kind,” she said directly, but not without gentleness. “Never be cruel, never be cowardly. Always try to be nice, but never fail to be _kind_.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all it boils down to, yes. Kindness and honesty are the keys to a successful union, in my estimation.”

Ian pondered that for a moment. Kindness… it wasn’t the advice he’d been expecting, but it made sense to him. And wasn’t that what he was already trying to do? Give her want she wanted most - safety and Clara?

“In short,” Donna was saying, “do your best not to be too much like you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks ever so.”

Donna chuckled, apparently pleased to have scored a point, and Ian shook his head, looking back out on the dance floor, spotting Rose instantly. She was stunning, absolutely lovely, and he craved to touch her again. It had been too long. He needed to hold her in his arms as much as possible tonight, before the clock struck midnight and his little fantasy ended. 

“Of course,” Donna was saying, “I don’t think you’ll have any problems. You seem well-suited for each other.”

“I like to think so,” he answered without looking at his sister.

“And the way you keep looking at her, I’m sure I’ll have a niece or nephew to spoil by summer.”

Ian felt his ears redden. “You assume too much.”

“You look as if you’re ready to drag her off to your bedroom and take her right now, Ian.”

He whirled around, his eyes flashing, and he growled through gritted teeth. “For God’s sake, Donna, have some couth! That’s my _wife_ you’re speaking of.”

The redhead didn’t flinch. “That’s not your intention, is it? To bed her.”

Ian tried to appear unruffled by his sister hitting so close to the mark. “My intentions with my wife or lack thereof are none of your concern.”

Catching him by surprise, Donna grabbed his arm and pulled him away, through the crowd, until they were standing in a deserted corridor. 

“Donna, what the hell --”

“Tell me I’m mistaken in my belief. Tell me you did _not_ just commit yourself and Rose to a marriage in name only. Tell me.”

Ian huffed. He was caught, but unwilling to surrender gracefully. Stalling for time while he tried to think of something plausible to say to defend himself, he stammered. Donna’s eyes flashed and she boxed his ears. 

“Ow!”

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

Defending himself was pointless. Donna knew him better than that, and even if he lied and said she was wrong in order to keep their secret, Rose might not do so. But being without defense didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it. 

“Leave it, Donna,” he warned, his voice low and his eyes looking about for servants or guests in the hall. 

“I’ll do no such thing,” she responded in a fierce (but thankfully lower) voice. “Rose is my friend and you are my brother. I mean to see you both happy.”

“Rose makes me happy.”

“And what are you doing for her?”

“Making _her_ happy.”

“By ignoring her?”

“Does it seem as if I’ve been ignoring her?” he demanded, his voice getting a little louder in spite of himself. 

“You know what I mean, dolt.”

He did, and was angry he didn’t see a way to weasel out of this conversation. Defiantly, and hoping for a reprieve, he said in as dignified a tone as he could, “I mean to do everything in my power to make her happy.”

“If you want to make her happy, you have to love her!”

“Did I say I didn’t?” he demanded, then looked around and lowered his voice again. “I didn’t say that, nor will you hear me say it. I just don’t intend to touch her.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s not what she wants.”

Donna scoffed. “Every woman wants to be cherished, Ian.”

“She will be cherished. We just won’t share a bed.”

“Why?”

Ian ground his teeth, hating Clara with a passion in that moment. “She loves another.”

“She doesn’t.”

“I assure you, she does.”

Donna shook her head disbelievingly. “I can’t credit it. Not Rose.”

“Yes, Rose. Her heart belongs to someone else.”

“So let me get this straight. She had the world open to her, marriage-wise. She could have married any tradesman or any member of the gentry, thanks to her station. And she loved a man, presumably one of those two classes. Yet she married you instead?”

“It’s… complicated. Just trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“How can I do that when you’re being an idiot?”

“I’m not! Look,” he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “If I thought there was a chance of winning her heart, I’d make the attempt. Of course I would. I’d make _every_ attempt. But I know there’s no hope, so I’ve granted her the freedom to pursue her heart’s desire so long as she is discreet and doesn’t shame me.”

His sister gaped at him. “You’re mad.”

“Perhaps. I won’t argue that point.”

“But you love her!”

“I won’t argue that point, either. But like most loving husbands, my wife’s safety and happiness are paramount to me. I married her to guarantee her safety. I’m giving her a marriage of convenience to make her happy.”

“And what of your happiness?”

He swallowed. “If Rose is happy, I am, too.”

Donna pursed her lips. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Ian didn’t have a clever retort for that, since he had no idea how long he’d be able to last, himself. So he issued a warning instead. “Stay out of it, Donna. I mean it. Don’t mention this to Rose. Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll dare if I --”

“And run Rose off? She’s already fled one man she didn’t want. Who’s to say she wouldn’t turn tail and run away from _me_ if she got scared? No. You’ll keep your big mouth shut this time. Do it out of love for me.”

“It’s out of love for you that I want to _say something_ ,” Donna persisted.

Ian just squared his shoulders. “I’ll thank you to refrain. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dance with my wife again.”

He left her standing in the corridor, fuming.

~*~O~*~

Rose danced every dance she could and chatted with every guest who wanted to, unwilling to let her mind or body stop moving, until it became clear that the ball was dying down. More and more often, she was being pulled aside to say goodnight to some guest or another, and the crowd was noticeably thinning. She knew she needed to leave, herself - the time for her wedding night was at hand, whatever it would bring - but she wasn’t anxious to retire to her husband’s bedroom alone. 

Finally, enough subtle comments about her wedding night convinced her to retire. She bade the remaining guests a good night, including a smirking Osgood and stony-faced Donna, then made her way upstairs to the Duke’s chambers. 

Clara was waiting when she got there, ready to help Rose prepare for her night, uneventful though it was likely to be. But Ian had been so attentive to her all day and this evening. Maybe it meant his mind had changed? And their kiss… she’d definitely felt it all through her body. Could he possibly have, too?

“How was it?” Clara asked, setting to work on getting Rose’s hair unbound. 

“How was what?”

“The ball, silly. Did you have a good time?”

“I did. Ian was very attentive. It was most enjoyable.”

Clara chattered while she took down Rose’s hair, then set to work on her wedding gown. Rose had no idea what she was talking about. She just nodded or hummed noncommittally while the maid worked. When she was ready to slip into her night rail, she looked around the unfamiliar room, but didn’t see it. 

“Where are my night things?”

The maid gave her a smirk. “You have a gift.”

Rose was confused. “A gift? What is it?”

Clara stepped aside so she could see the set that lay on the bed. Rose took in the sight of the flimsy garments and blushed at the very idea of wearing something so revealing. 

“Who - who is that from?” she asked, hoping against hope that Clara would say her husband had sent it up and was expecting her to wear it. _Please let her say Ian_...

“Lady Fitzgerald and Lady McAvoy had it made for you. It’s stunning, isn’t it?”

Rose deflated, her hopes dashed. Yes, it was gorgeous, but her husband wasn’t likely to notice or appreciate that. 

Clara seemed to read her mind. “Come on, now, Rose. Chin up. No man would be able to resist you when you’re wearing something like that.”

“So you say…”

“So I _know_. Just put it on and wait for him. You may be pleasantly surprised.”

“You honestly think so?” she asked, afraid to hope, yet feeling a little flicker anyway. 

“I do. Now come on, let’s get it on you.”

A few moments later, Rose was wearing the ivory silk negligee and it was even more revealing than she’d expected. It was designed to hug her curves, and did so faithfully. It fell to just below her knee, which was immodest enough, but there was a slit up the side that came up nearly to her hip and revealed the length of her leg every time she moved. The entire thing was held up by the thinnest straps over her shoulders that Rose had ever seen and the front of the negligee dipped so low, she was barely covered. Her decolletage was on full display. The dressing gown that came with it was designed to flatter the figure, not conceal it, so it provided virtually no cover and didn’t have a belt she could tie. Rose still tried to cover herself with it modestly, pulling it this way and that until Clara clucked at her.

“That’s supposed to just hang loosely.”

“It is?” Rose squeaked. 

“Mhm. And I have to say, Rose, your husband is going to be knocked on his arse when he sees you. There’s no way he won’t want you.”

“You think so?” Hope was starting to burn in her chest, and she quite liked it.

“He’d have to be mad not to.”

“What do I do?” she asked in a rush. “If he wants to… you know. What do I do?”

“You let him,” Clara advised, hanging Rose’s wedding gown up. “Do what he says. He’ll know what to do.”

“What’s it like?”

Clara smoothed the front of the dress down and closed the door to the closet. “I’ve never had relations, myself.”

“But surely you’ve heard about it?”

“Some.”

“Well? What have you heard?”

“I’ve heard it hurts, and for some women that never gets better. But most women eventually do find some pleasure in the marriage bed.”

“I suppose they’d have to, or there wouldn’t be so many babies.”

“See?” Clara said matter-of-factly, gathering stockings and slips to leave. “You have no cause for concern.”

“But --”

There was a quiet knock at the door and both women’s heads snapped up. Clara made to leave and Rose reached out, suddenly terrified. 

“Clara…”

“You’ll be fine, Rose. He’s been nothing but tender and kind to you so far, hasn’t he? Trust him.” She squeezed Rose’s hand and turned to leave. Rose just watched as her friend opened the door, gave a little curtsey and murmured a greeting to someone on the other side, then scurried away. 

Ian stepped inside and closed the door behind himself, not having seen Rose yet. He glanced around, searching, then froze when his eyes landed on her. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he’d be able to hear it from across the room. Self-consciously, she smoothed the silk of the negligee and noted that her palms were sweaty. His eyes raked her up and down, and to Rose, they seemed to blaze with something she’d never seen before. It stoked the hope in her heart and she prayed fervently under her breath. _Please let him want me. Please let him want me._

The only sounds in the room were the quiet cracking of the fireplace and Rose’s ragged, uneven breathing. Still, he stared at her, silently. She started to worry that she may faint under his scrutiny, but the heat in his eyes didn’t fade. Maybe he did want her, after all. Maybe he --

He cleared his throat and looked away from her, and the spell was broken. “I see you’re ready for bed,” he said in a voice that was different from normal, more gravelly. “That’s fine. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“You don’t --” 

“I’ll just get one of the pillows, if you don’t mind,” he said, still not looking at her, and Rose felt herself sag. It had been for nothing. She’d put herself on display for him, daring to believe Clara’s words that only a madman wouldn’t want her. Well, it seemed she was married to a madman, because Ian clearly didn’t want her. 

She was silent while he grabbed a pillow from the bed and took it to the chairs by the fire. He never looked at her: she might as well have been invisible. Feeling tears prick the back of her eyes, she went to the bed, slipped out of the miniscule robe, then crawled between the covers. The room was silent once she got settled, and she worked hard to keep from making noise when she cried herself to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

30 September, 1823

Ian pretended to be asleep the next morning when Rose woke and began to stir. The sun was not fully up yet and the room was still mostly dark, but he kept his eyes closed tight anyway, denying his desire to peek at her. The memory of her ensemble the night before and the way she looked in it was burned into his mind, but he didn’t dare look and confirm what he remembered. He merely listened to her rustling around for a few moments before he heard the door open and close quietly. To be on the safe side, he feigned sleep for a few more minutes before he stirred. Once he was certain she was gone, the tension bled out of him and he slumped in the chair. 

He had spent many nights in some very uncomfortable situations. Life traveling from place to place, offering his services as a doctor, often left him sleeping on dingy mats in a hut given to him by whatever tribe he was caring for. A couple of times, after misunderstandings or disagreements with the locals, he’d spent the night in jail. But he’d never, in all his forty years, spent a night nearly as miserable as the one he’d just passed. Between the hard chair and the knowledge that the woman he loved had been sleeping twenty feet away but he wasn’t allowed to touch her… 

Frankly, he’d slept like shit. 

Ian got to his feet, his bones creaking a bit. Studiously ignoring the erection he’d had all night, he started to disrobe. He still wore most of the formal togs he’d married Rose in the day before, his kilt and hose still on, although he’d stripped down to his shirtsleeves to ‘sleep’. The clothes were much easier to take off than they were to put on, and as he removed them all, he rethought the entire day ahead of him, wondering if his presence were _really_ necessary - at least this morning. He couldn’t entirely shirk his hosting duties, he knew, but all he wanted was to rest for a little while. 

Well, he amended to himself, that wasn’t _all_ he wanted, but it was all that was attainable. 

Deciding it was early enough that he could rest a little longer, he crawled into bed. At once, Rose’s scent surrounded him, and his erection, which had faded a little, soared back to life. Ian did his best to ignore it, but his mind replayed the image of her standing before him, wearing the negligee, tempting him to madness. She had been the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, and he’d wanted her in that moment to the point of desperation. It would have been so easy for him to have cast aside his determination and demanded that she make love to him. He’d been sorely tempted to do just that. It would have been his right, and no one would have blamed him.

Except Rose, the only person whose opinion mattered. And, if he were being honest, he’d have blamed himself. Rose didn't want him, she wanted Clara, and forcing her to make love to him when her heart belonged to another would have accomplished nothing but making his wife resent him - and making him hate himself. 

He cursed Clara again for having the heart of the woman he loved. If he’d been a more selfish man, he’d have dismissed the maid and tried to win Rose’s love - but he couldn’t break her heart like that. He just couldn’t.

Pushing away those thoughts, he surrendered to his desires and allowed himself to be carried away by the memory of Rose in the negligee. In his mind’s eye, she stood there in front of him, bathed in candlelight, her hair spilling all around her and her infinitely kissable skin on display. Absently, he noted his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking, but he couldn’t care right then. 

_She held her hand out for him - a silent offer - and he took it without question. She led him to the bed, and his heart beat a rapid tattoo. She turned to face him, took a step closer, and tilted her lips up to him._

_It was an invitation he didn’t dare refuse. His arms went around her and he crushed her to his chest, his mouth devouring hers. Oh, she tasted so much more lovely than he’d ever dreamed, and her body yielded to his at once. He could feel all her soft curves pressed against where he was hard and aching, and it made him even more wild for her._

His hand tightened and sped up its motions. 

_Like magic, their clothes had disappeared, and he laid her down on the bed. She was glorious, perfectly formed and beautifully curved. He bent over her, applying his mouth to every inch of skin he came across. His lips brushed her nipple and he suckled it, earning a moan for his efforts. Rose rolled her body beneath him, seeking him, and he placed his hand over where she was wet for him, dipping a finger between the petals of her sex._

Ian whimpered, feeling himself getting close, but too lost in the fantasy to slow down or stop. He could feel his bollocks tightening and sent his other hand down to cup them. 

_She was wet, so deliciously wet, and the knowledge that he’d gotten her that way spiked his arousal even higher. Slowly, gently, he eased one finger into her channel, absolutely bathing in the sound she made when he did._

_”Oh, Ian… yes…”_

Faster and faster he pumped his cock, squeezing and fondling his bollocks.

_He slid his finger in and out, curving it a little to stroke the ridged spot inside her. She purred in his arms, and he caught her lips with his again to swallow the sounds she was making when he slid a second finger inside her. His thumb sought out the seat of her pleasure and he stroked her clit in little circles, relishing the way she bucked beneath him._

_“Ian! Ian! Oh! Oh!”_

She detonated in his fantasy and he gave over, calling her name brokenly, his seed erupting from the head of his cock and splattering his abdomen. He stroked himself through the orgasm, shuddering, gasping, writhing on the bed. When it was over, he panted for breath for a few moments while his cock softened in his hand and his come cooled on his belly. Groaning at the knowledge of what he’d just done, he let go of himself and let his head drop to the pillow, his clean hand coming up to cover his eyes.

In the past, he’d only taken himself in hand occasionally. He’d even go so far as to say the occasions in which he felt compelled to do so were rare. Now, though, since he’d met Rose… well, he was concerned it was going to become a habit. But what could he do? There would be no relief for him otherwise. 

Ian had always envisioned being married as hellish torture, but he’d never imagined anything like this. He was sure that when Dante wrote about the circles of hell, he’d never considered the idea of being married to and in love with a woman you couldn’t touch. Surely that would have ranked among the most intense torment imaginable. 

He sighed, disgusted with himself and somehow more despondent than when he started. Giving up trying to sleep as a bad job, he used his shirt to clean himself up, then got out of bed and went to get dressed. He had guests to see to.

~*~O~*~

Rose was met with knowing smiles when she entered the breakfast room, where their families and remaining guests were located. The looks on people’s faces just served to remind her that her wedding night had passed with her husband in the chair, refusing to touch her, and she felt like crying. But she wouldn’t give in to tears, not again. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, then had sobbed her heart out this morning on Clara’s shoulder. She’d gotten her emotions under control now, and the crying was done. Her heart may have been broken, but no one need know that. It would mend over time, and she’d get used to the situation she found herself in.

She thought back to what Clara had pointed out this morning. Honestly, she should be grateful. Most women would probably kill to be where she was: newly made a duchess, living in a house that was so big as to be mistaken for a castle, married to a man who was her friend and cared about her, but wouldn’t be demanding she provide him an heir. Really, her position was terribly enviable. It was just miserable luck that she happened to be in love with her husband, who would never love her in return. 

Tears threatened again and she swallowed hard, willing them away. Now was not the time, and her guests would certainly question her tears on the day after she’d married. She must control her emotions until she could be alone. 

Giving the room at large a brittle smile, she went to the buffet to peruse the selection for breakfast. It was an impressive spread, and she resolved to speak to Cook later and congratulate her on a job well done. That was an appropriate thing to do, wasn't it, as Duchess? She wasn’t sure, but it seemed it should be. It was kind, anyway, and she wanted to be kind. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” came a voice from her shoulder. 

She turned to face the man who had spoken and recognized him as Harold Saxon, the Baron of Oakdown and Ian’s cousin. She’d spoken with him only briefly at the engagement party in Glasgow and then yesterday, during all the festivities, but she knew her husband was fond of him. She put on a smile. 

“Lord Oakdown, so good to see you this morning. Is your wife with you?”

He gave a dismissive gesture that didn’t sit well with Rose. “She’s around here somewhere. I trust you slept well?”

It was like being dunked in an icy pond, the reminder of how she hadn’t slept at all, but she supposed she should just accept the thinly-veiled references to her wedding night. It was tradition, after all. 

“Very well,” she lied. “And you?”

“I always sleep well at Gallifrey,” he said, and something in his tone bothered Rose, the same as it had when he’d dismissed his wife not being present. She brushed off the odd sensation, though. 

“Well, I’m pleased to hear it.”

“Where is that husband of yours?” he asked, looking around the room. “Lost him already?”

It was another unpleasant jolt, and her smile was tighter this time. 

“I don’t know, exactly. He was still abed when I got up to get ready for the day. Perhaps he’s still sleeping.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so surprised in my life as I was when I was told Ian had decided to marry. He’s never been interested in marriage before, and in the last twenty years or so, I’ve not known him to keep company with a woman at all, any woman. I was starting to worry about the boy, indeed I was.”

Rose blinked stupidly at him. She was a bit naive, but even _she_ knew what he was implying. 

“So you’ll understand why I couldn’t credit the idea of him suddenly wishing to marry,” Harold went on, “that is, of course, until I met you. When I did, it made more sense.”

She didn’t react, she was still caught up on what he’d implied about her husband. Could that be it? Could that be the reason he was so affectionate with her, but didn’t truly want her?

Harold was smirking, as if he’d won some battle. “Of course, he _had_ to marry sometime. Further the bloodline, you know. Carry on the family name and hand down the title.”

Rose was barely listening. Her mind was awhirl with the possibility that Ian might not favor women. It would explain everything!

“But you,” he was saying, “you’re lovely enough to tempt any man into marriage, my cousin included.”

“Thank you,” Rose murmured, unsure what else to say. She was dying to know more that would confirm or dismiss the suspicions Oakdown had planted, but how could she ask delicately?

“Rose?” came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned around to find Donna looking at her expectantly. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Rose’s brows knit a little in confusion. 

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if I could steal you away for a few moments,” Donna said, then turned to Harold and her eyes were hard, even though her voice was kind as ever. “I pray you’ll excuse us, cousin,” she said, reaching for and taking Rose’s hand. “We need a bit of girl talk.”

“Far be it from me to prevent girl talk,” Harold said with his trademark smirk and his hands raised. 

“Lovely,” Donna fairly spat, then tugged Rose out of the breakfast room and into the corridor. Rose followed her, struck nearly dumb by everything that had transpired in the last few minutes, not sure what to say. So she kept quiet and followed her sister-in-law. 

Finally, Donna pulled Rose into a small parlor and shut the door. Rose just stood there, waiting for Donna to explain herself, but the ginger woman didn’t. She turned to Rose from the closed door and demanded, “What did he say to you? Whatever it was, it was a lie.”

Rose blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My cousin. What did he say to you? Because no matter what it was, it was an absolute lie. Every word.”

“I’m not… _what_?”

Donna sighed, then led Rose over to the settee to sit. “My cousin, Lord Oakdown, is the worst kind of scoundrel. He lies, he’s manipulative, and he cares for no one but himself. There isn’t an honest or moral bone in his body, and you’d do well to steer clear of him.”

“But... Ian said they were friends.”

 _Would a friend insinuate what Lord Oakdown just did about your husband? And to a man’s new wife?_ a little voice in her head asked. 

She didn’t get to give that much thought before Donna was clicking her tongue. “Yes, they’re friends, but Ian doesn’t seem to see Harold for what he really is. He has a blind spot of some sort, and I don’t know how to get through to him. It’s maddening. I can’t stand to talk to the man. It makes me feel oily and somewhat dirty just to converse with him.” 

That was an excellent way of describing how talking to Lord Oakdown had made her feel, and she found herself nodding. 

Donna looked satisfied, then concerned. “Rose, no matter what he told you, don’t believe a word of it. Especially if it has to do with my brother. He’s always been envious of the Docherty family because of the title we hold, when he only has a minor barony. That envy has intensified now that Ian has inherited from Brax.”

“But what reason would he have to lie to me?” Rose asked, feeling more than a little mixed-up. 

“Fun. That’s the only reason he needs. He thinks it’s fun to manipulate people, sow dissention, and turn people against each other. Please,” Donna said, reaching across to take Rose’s hand. “I beg you, don’t let him color your perception of my brother.” 

Rose thought back to what Lord Oakdown had implied. It made a twisted kind of sense and would explain nearly everything, but she couldn’t quite credit it. Besides, Donna was so sure he was lying, even though she had no idea what he’d said. This revelation, if true, would certainly drive a wedge between any newlyweds. Was that what Lord Oakdown wanted?

She gave Donna a smile, deciding to ponder what he’d said at a later date. “I’ll take his words with a grain of salt,” she assured her sister-in-law.

Donna gave her a disbelieving look. “Would you like to tell me what he said so I can ease your mind?”

Rose would never get over the mortification if she tried to explain what he’d implied, and feared Donna may actually try to kill the man if she found out. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll just take what you’ve said into consideration. And thank you,” she added, “for alerting me to his duplicitous nature.”

Donna didn’t look convinced, but gave a short nod anyway, as if to end that conversation. “Alright, then. Well, I did want to check on you this morning. How was your night?”

She wanted to crawl in a hole. Smiling and lying to Lord Oakdown was one thing. Donna was her friend and knew her well. How could she lie to her friend? But she had to. Ian wanted this kept from her, and she’d respect his wishes. 

“It was lovely,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “Absolutely lovely.”

“He didn’t touch you, did he?”

Rose blinked in surprise, caught, and the redhead looked away and swore out loud. She cursed Ian with very unladylike words that startled Rose, then turned back and looked at Rose with her eyes flashing. 

“I could kill him.”

“Donna --”

“He’s my brother and he deserves it. I can’t believe he would treat you this way.”

“He hasn’t mistreated me.”

“He’s ignoring you.”

“He’s not. He’s very attentive.”

Donna snorted. “And yet he won’t touch you.”

“He doesn’t want to,” Rose said, feeling like her heart was breaking all over again. 

The ginger woman was quiet for a moment, then asked in a soft voice, “Do you want him to?”

Rose blinked back tears. “It doesn’t matter. I offered and he declined.”

“He _declined_?”

“I wore the negligee you and Osgood sent. He took one look at me and went to sleep in the chair.”

“Rose, he thinks you --”

“This is what he wants. He made it clear when he proposed that this would be a marriage in name only. I knew what I was getting into.”

Donna sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Please don’t. This is what he wants,” she repeated.

“No, it’s not, Rose.”

“You weren’t there, Donna. You didn’t see his face. He doesn’t want me.”

“He _does_.”

“If he did, he could have had me. But he just went to sleep in the chair. It was the most humiliating moment of my life,” she recounted, the tears finally winning and spilling onto her cheeks. 

“Rose…”

“No, Donna. Just leave it be. I’ve made my bed and now I’ll lie in it. Alone.”

“But what of your happiness?”

“He’s very kind to me. I’ve no reason to be unhappy.”

A knock sounded at the door and Rose wiped her cheeks hurriedly. “Yes?” Donna answered.

Strax opened the door and stepped inside. “So sorry to bother you, ma’am, but your husbands are looking for you. I’m afraid if you don’t join them soon, they’re likely to dismember the guests. Might I join them, if they do?”

Rose got to her feet without looking at Donna, brushing off Strax’s odd statement. “Thank you, Strax, but no dismemberment will be necessary. Let them know we’ll be with them directly.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

She started towards the door, but Donna caught her hand and turned her around. “Rose, I can’t bear to see you this way. Please let me talk to him.”

Rose did her best to smile. “I appreciate it, Donna, but it won’t do any good and will only serve to make him angry. I want to give him what he wants.”

“He wants you!”

“The evidence of my experience tells me something entirely different. Please leave it alone.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the door, her head held as high as she could make it. But instead of going to find Ian in the breakfast room, she fled to her bedroom to cry a little more.


	17. Chapter 17

2 October 1823

If Ian had had any real concerns about Rose taking on her role as the duchess, they were all but erased over the first couple days of their marriage, while she played hostess to all of the guests who had come to Gallifrey for the wedding. He took great pride in watching her interact with family and friends, meeting their needs and making them comfortable. When he actually took a moment to think about it, it occurred to him that she had essentially been thrown into this life with very little preparation or warning. She’d been raised a lady, yes, but being a duchess was an entirely different role than that of an Earl’s granddaughter, and it was unrealistic for him to have expected her to fall into her new position so easily. Yet she’d not only met his unrealistic expectations - she’d surpassed them. He was terribly pleased with her, and resolved to let her know at their first private moment. 

Of course, there was part of Ian that wished maybe she _wasn’t_ such a stellar hostess. If she weren’t, perhaps they wouldn’t still have guests three days after the wedding. There weren’t many people left, really, mostly family, but he was quite ready for them _all_ to be gone - particularly Donna.

He and his sister hadn’t spoken privately since their conversation at the ball, the night of Ian’s wedding, but he was in no rush to speak to her now. He knew all too well who had given Rose that flimsy negligee to wear to bed that night, and blamed his sister for the entire situation. The logical voice at the back of his mind told him that Donna had to have commissioned the negligee well before the wedding, when she had no inkling that Ian’s wouldn’t be a normal marriage, and was thus blameless, but he had no inclination to listen to logic. To his mind, Donna could have prevented the whole thing if, after she’d talked to Ian and discerned the truth, she’d sent word up for Rose _not_ to receive the gift. That would have saved him the agony of knowing just how delectable his wife was wearing something so erotic, and he’d have slept better for the last several nights. No, it was best if he avoided Donna for now. 

Ian had grown tired of his duties as host (and of his sister constantly trying to corner him to talk), and was ready for the house to empty, leaving him and Rose alone. There was much to do to prepare for winter planting, and he should be working closely with Ianto. Unfortunately, due to his guests, he needed to stay close to home and couldn’t go out onto the estate. To pacify himself (and to get himself out of the house, away from Donna), he concentrated his energy on the medical practice in town, seeing patients and establishing himself. Since the old doctor had died in the spring, nearly all ailments had gone without treatment, and there was much for Ian to do. He threw himself joyfully into the practice of medicine and helping people again.

When he had returned to Gallifrey and discovered the need for a doctor, he’d placed adverts in Glasgow and Edinburgh, looking for doctors willing to move to Gallifrey Town and practice there. The response had been better than he’d expected, and he’d quickly narrowed the list down to four men. The candidates were expected to be in Gallifrey for interviews and to see the town tomorrow, and he’d make a final selection at that time. He was looking forward to the interviews, and to having one more task he’d set for himself accomplished. 

Nardole arrived a couple of days after the wedding, and Ian was grateful for the return of his most loyal servant. He reported that the letter had been delivered to Lord Stone, and that the Viscount seemed to have gotten the message. Lord Stone had assured Nardole that he would be leaving the newlyweds alone, and Ian was thankful - and more than a little triumphant. Rose was safe now, due to his actions, and he couldn’t help feeling proud of that. Rose would be relieved, as well, and the idea of bringing her peace pleased him. He ordered Nardole to take it easy for a day after traveling nearly continuously for so long - they had much to do when things settled down.

Finally, at long last, the only guests left were the Fitzgeralds and the McAvoys, who announced they would be leaving the next morning. Dinner was livelier and less stilted with just the immediate family present, and Ian enjoyed himself - especially knowing his guests would soon be gone. After dinner, the women retired to a parlor while Ian, Fergus, and Lee sipped port in his study, then joined the women for card games. The night was pleasant, but he was tired and ready for bed. He hadn’t slept well since his wedding night, images of his wife tormenting him, keeping him awake, and he hoped tonight for a dreamless sleep.

It was that fatigue that relaxed his guard, and he found himself being pulled aside by Donna. He tried to get away from her politely, but there was no way to do so without being unspeakably rude and causing a scene. He allowed himself to be tugged away, although he glared at her. 

Once she had him in the next room, he stood there, waiting for her to say something. He knew she wouldn’t apologize - she never did - but maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t say something to infuriate him further. He hoped not, anyway. 

He was not to get his wish. 

“Ian, listen. I spoke to Rose --”

“About what?” he demanded, crossing his arms angrily, not liking where this was going already. 

“About your… arrangement.”

“After I expressly told you not to?”

“Yes, but you see --”

Ian turned and walked a couple steps away from her, running his hand through his hair then pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting for control of his temper. “I told you to leave it alone.”

“How could I leave both of you to be miserable? I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“By interfering in my life? You know, Donna, it almost sprung to my lips to say I can’t believe you’d do something like this, but that’s foolish. I should have known you’d do this very thing. You never could leave well enough alone.”

“Ian, _listen_ \--”

“No, _you_ listen. You’ve made your opinion clear, the night of my wedding. And if I hadn’t gotten the message, you got it through _again_ when you had Rose dress in that… in that…”

“It’s called lingerie.”

“I know what the hell it is,” he snapped at her. “But what it _really_ was was an attempt to meddle in my affairs. Tell me, Donna. Knowing what you know about how I feel compared to how she feels, how could you put us in that situation? _How?_ ”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you dolt! She --”

He wasn’t finished. “How could you do that to Rose? How could you do that to _me_?”

Donna stamped her foot. “You’re doing it to _yourself_ , idiot! I talked to her --”

He held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word. You betrayed my trust and put me in a horrible situation. I have no desire to speak any further with you about it. The matter is closed. Stay out of it.”

For the second time, he strode off and left her behind, fuming.

~*~O~*~

3 October 1823

When Nardole had arrived two days before, while they still had guests, he’d brought with him all of Rose’s worldly goods from London. There had been several carts full of things from her old home, and she’d done her best to place as much of it as she could while still seeing to her guests. Thankfully for Rose, her only guests left at that time had been family, and they’d been more than willing to help her get some of her things in place. Donna had been especially helpful, since she had grown up at Gallifrey and knew it so well. She was able to look at Rose’s furniture and other things with little more than a glance and recommend a place in the manor that they would match perfectly. Rose treated her suggestions with the utmost respect and followed nearly all of them. Donna was also encouraging Rose to redecorate and make Gallifrey her own. She was the new Duchess, Donna said, and Gallifrey should reflect her personality and taste. Rose wasn’t entirely sure about that, but her sister-in-law was insistent. 

Lots of things went into storage for later use, since there wasn’t a logical place for them. By the time Donna and Osgood had left that morning, there had only been one cart left to place. Rose had ordered the remaining items put into storage until later, when she could decide what to do with them. 

She was sitting in one of the parlors after a long day of saying goodbye to her family then doing what she could to learn her new home, waiting for dinner to be called, when Ian strolled in. She was startled to see him: she hadn’t expected him before dinner since they no longer had guests and he'd told her that morning he'd be gone all day. She was pleased to see him, though, immensely so, and her belly fluttered pleasantly at the sight of him, so handsome and tall. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted her with a smile, coming over to take her hand and kiss it. “How was your day?”

“It was lovely. Yours?”

“Better now that I’m here with you. Did you explore the house some?”

She smiled. “I did. Managed to only get lost once or twice,” she teased. 

Ian’s blue-green eyes twinkled, letting her know he’d gotten the joke. “Well, perhaps we should fit you with a bell to wear, so we can hear where you are as you roam?”

“Do you compare me to a cow, Ian?” she asked him, barely suppressing a giggle. 

He looked mock-wounded. “I do no such thing. Merely suggesting a logical solution to your problem. It would be most inconvenient to lose you in the bowels of the manor, you know.”

“Yes, I imagine so. It took you this long to settle on your first wife. Imagine how long it would take you to replace me!”

Ian’s eyes weren’t twinkling now and his voice was quiet. “I don’t think I ever could, nor would I want to.”

The unexpected, tender statement caused Rose to flush, and she ducked her head, biting her lip on a smile. Really, he could be the sweetest man. If only --

There was a cleared throat from the doorway and Rose’s head snapped up. Strax stood there, looking pleased with himself. “Dinner is served, Your Graces, no thanks to the new kitchen help. The new people are really quite troublesome. Might I melt them with acid?”

Rose, who had had a few days to get used to her new butler, smothered her laugh with her hand. Ian glanced at her quickly, his eyes back to twinkling, and he cleared his throat. “No need, Strax, thank you. I’m sure dinner is most satisfactory.”

“If it’s not, Your Grace, I have the pistols cleaned and ready.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, but thank you. If anyone needs obliterating, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Strax gave a bow, then turned to leave. Rose finally let a giggle escape and got to her feet. Ian was standing at the ready, his elbow extended to her. “May I escort you, sweetheart?”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” she rejoined, then slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. He led her past the large dining room they’d been eating at since she’d arrived, and instead took her to a smaller, more intimate dining room where there were two places set. He took her to her seat and held out her chair for her, kissing her hand before he went to sit in his own seat a short distance away. 

Once he was seated, dinner was served, and the two tucked in. Contrary to Strax’s concerns, the food was delicious, and Rose was pleased. 

“You did well hiring a kitchen staff,” she told Ian. “Everything they’ve made so far has been exemplary.”

“Thank you. Some of them were only hired on temporarily, during the wedding and while we had guests, but we can certainly hire them on permanently, if you wish.”

“Well, how often do you expect us to have guests?”

“As often as you like, sweetheart. Anytime you feel the desire for more company, you can feel free to invite friends or family to visit.”

She smiled. “That’s very kind, but this is your home.”

“It’s your home too, Rose,” he reminded her gently. 

Rose just nodded. He was right. It might not feel that way just yet, but it was home. Adding her personal belongings here and there around the place had helped solidify that in her mind a bit, but she supposed it might still take a little while. 

“Most of the other staff that has been serving in the last week or so was also hired temporarily. If you’d like to keep them, we will. Otherwise, we will advertise for more help and get them hired forthwith.”

“The servants I’ve dealt with have all been lovely,” Rose said. “I don’t see any reason not to hire them permanently.”

“Are you sure? I want you to feel as involved with the process as you would like to be.”

She smiled gently. “I think you’ll find, Ian, that I’m not the type of person who’s desperate to control everything around me. I tend to go along with the flow, for the most part. But don’t worry. If I feel something needs to be done differently or someone needs dismissing, I’ll speak up.”

Ian gave a short nod. “Good.” He took another bite of his meal, chewed it, then swallowed and said, “So you’ve been putting your belongings around, I see.”

“Oh, no… have I done too much?”

“No, sweetheart,” he rushed to assure her. “No, not at all. I just noticed a grandfather clock in the foyer that I’d never seen before, and I assumed it must be yours.”

“It is. It was my grandmother’s. I can move it, if you --”

“It’s fine where it is,” he assured her, his hand covering hers and squeezing. “If that’s where you want it, that’s where it will stay.”

“I don’t want to disrupt things too much,” she started. 

“Sweetheart, this is your _home_ ,” he emphasized. “It’s not disruptive to make things comfortable for you. I know I have a reputation for grumpiness but I promise, I’m not _that_ hard to get along with.”

“Of course not,” she flushed. “I never thought you were.”

“Good,” Ian said, then went back to his food. They ate in companionable silence for a while, then he asked, “By the by, how _are_ you settling in?”

“Very well, I suppose. I’ve never moved to a new home, unless you count going to Glasgow to stay with Fergus and Osgood, but that always felt temporary. I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to be settling in, but I think I’m doing alright.”

“Given anymore thought to hiring a decorator?”

Rose nodded. “Yes, I have. Donna is encouraging me to do the same. I suppose if the people who grew up here are in favor of redecorating, I’d be churlish to say no.”

“Not churlish,” Ian grinned. “I can’t imagine you ever being so.”

“You just don’t know me very well,” she teased. “I can be quite unpleasant in the mornings, when I first wake up. Clara takes joy in telling me what a harridan I am when she tries to wake me before I’m ready to rise. You’re lucky you don’t have to witness it.”

Ian looked down hurriedly and Rose realized what she’d said. Mortified, her cheeks flamed, and she tried to think of some way to walk back her statement, but nothing was coming to her.

Without looking up, Ian pushed the food around on his plate and said, “I suppose we should be grateful for Clara, then.”

There was something in his voice she didn’t quite understand, but figured it was probably embarrassment, since she’d inadvertently brought up the topic of their separate bedrooms. As of now, she was still in the room adjoining his, and she really, _really_ didn’t want to move to her own wing of the house. Since the night of their wedding, he’d been walking her to her room every night and placing a light kiss on her cheek in parting - a little kiss that she’d been treasuring every single night. Clara had teased her about how she often absently reached up to touch the place his lips had been, just wanting to feel closer to him. She wanted to stay as near to Ian as possible, even if he never touched her. But if he suddenly remembered she was sleeping in the room next to him and wanted her away… She swallowed hard and prayed for a change of subject.

Ian delivered. “I hired a doctor today. For Gallifrey Town.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He served in the British army as a doctor for several years, but retired recently, saying he wants to be a country doctor. I think he’ll be a perfect fit.”

“What’s his name?”

“Harry Sullivan. Nice fellow, I think you’ll like him. He’s asked for a day or so to consider the offer. I’ve put him up at the inn in town.”

There was nothing much to say to that, so Rose just nodded. “I look forward to meeting him.”

They were quiet for a bit longer, finishing their meals, and Ian spoke again. “Have you explored the grounds at all?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve been confined to the house with guests, until today. And once everyone left, I took the time to try to learn the main floor of the house as best I could.”

“I was thinking if you wanted, we could go for a ride tomorrow. I could show you some of the estate, perhaps introduce you to some of the tenants. If we run into Dr. Sullivan, I could introduce you to him. And you haven’t met Mr. Jones, have you?”

“The land agent? No, I haven’t.”

“Then I’ll definitely be making that introduction. We could spend the day out on the estate, exploring a bit. We’ll take our lunch in one of the villages and come home in time for dinner. What do you say?”

A whole day spent in Ian’s company? She honestly couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than that. 

Well, maybe _one_ thing she’d like more… She pushed that thought back down before it could properly form. 

“I’d love to,” she said with a big smile.


	18. Chapter 18

3 October, 1823

Ian was waiting for Rose in the foyer the next morning when she descended the stairs, looking as elegant as any queen, and utterly taking his breath away. The riding habit she wore was made of velvet in a deep, rich blue, and trimmed with black satin. A white lace collar lay at her throat and there were white lace cuffs over her black leather riding gloves. She cut an absolutely stunning figure and he thanked the stars once again that this woman was in any way his.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted her with a smile when he managed to stop gaping. “You look absolutely stunning this morning.”

A flush darkened her cheeks, which pleased Ian. “Thank you,” she answered. “You look rather dashing in your riding clothes, as well.”

Ian looked down at himself. He wore a cutaway coat in black with a red satin lining and fawn leather breeches tucked into his black-and-brown boots. His riding clothes were hardly different from his everyday clothes, but he was thrilled with the compliment. Perhaps it meant she thought he looked dashing all the time? 

No, no. Best not to give that idea too much credit. 

“Thank you,” he said with a bow. “Are you ready for our ride?”

“Yes, quite,” Rose answered with a smile.

Ian offered his elbow and felt a thrill from the top of his head to the soles of his feet when Rose slipped her arm into it. He gave her another smile, loving her completely, then called for Nardole. The manservant appeared within seconds. 

“Yes, Doctor? Your Grace,” he said with a little bow when he spotted Rose. 

“I’m out for the day with my wife. We’re going to tour the grounds of the manor, then likely head to East Bend for lunch. We’ll end the day in Gallifrey Town before we come back here. Take care of things, will you?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“If there’s an emergency, come find me. Beyond that, I’ll deal with anything that comes up when I return home.”

“Certainly, sir.”

He gave the bald man a nod. “Good, thank you. We’ll be back this evening, before dinner,” he said, then led Rose out of the foyer towards one of the back entrances. 

She was quiet until they got out of the house, and Ian just enjoyed the feel of her hand resting lightly on his arm. Unable to help himself, he covered her small hand with his and smiled when she looked up at him. 

The stables came into view just ahead, and Rose gasped. 

“Yes?”

“Are those the stables?”

“Yes.”

“They’re huge!” she marveled, and Ian swelled with pride. 

“My brother had them renovated just a few years ago, so they’re top-of-the-line. They’re even heated.”

“Heated stables? I’ve heard of such, but never known anyone who owned them.”

“Well, now _you_ own them,” he said with a little squeeze to her hand. 

“Do you have a horse for me?”

“I do. I have a mare named Idris who’s as gentle and tame as you could ever hope a horse to be. She’ll be your mount today, and if you like her, she’s yours. If you don’t, I’ll buy you a new one more to your liking.”

She ducked her head, the way she always did when she was embarrassed by his generosity. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I don’t ride much, there’s no need to spend money on me.”

“Ah, but you see, I _want_ to spend money on you, sweetheart. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

Her eyes twinkled up at him and she bit her lip. He wanted to rescue it from between her teeth and soothe it with his tongue, but refrained. She wouldn’t appreciate that. The thought was like cold water on his ardor and he cleared his throat. 

Rose didn’t seem to notice his shift in mood. “What about your horse? I assume you won’t be riding a timid mare.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her cheek. “No, I’ve got a stallion named Tardis. He was my brother’s, but he’s taken to me fairly well.”

“Is that the one --” she started, her eyes wide.

He was confused for just a moment, then shook his head. “No. That horse is dead.”

What he didn’t tell her was that in his grief and rage in the aftermath of Brax’s funeral, he’d shot the horse that had killed his brother, leaving _him_ with the unwanted burden of becoming Duke of Gallifrey. It was a regret now, but he couldn’t take it back. Still, he had no desire to speak of that with Rose, and she didn’t press the issue.

When they came to the stables, the stablehand, Joseph, bowed when introduced to Rose, then went to fetch the horses and saddle them up. Ian took Rose on a short tour of the stables, introducing her to all of the horses and other stablehands. 

At length, their horses were saddled and brought out. Ian helped Rose get into the sidesaddle and waited until she was secure as she could be, then climbed onto his own horse. Once they were both settled, he led Rose and Idris out of the stableyard and towards the road. 

“Where are we going first?” Rose asked.

“I thought I’d take you to one of the villages, East Bend. It’s lovely there, and we’ll pass several farms as we go. We can take luncheon there, if you’d like. There’s a small inn.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Then we can circle back around and stop in Gallifrey Town. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Jones, the land agent, and we can see if Dr. Sullivan has made a determination about staying. Perhaps your presence will charm him.”

She flushed becomingly. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do,” he said confidently, and Rose smiled. 

They were coming to the edge of the grounds, and just ahead there was a farm. He and Rose encouraged the horses into trots and headed for the field. When they were close, he spotted the farmer working. 

“What is he doing?” Rose asked. 

“Plowing. Making furrows to plant the winter crops.”

“What is he going to plant?”

“Onions, most likely, but maybe spinach.”

Rose nodded in acceptance and they watched the farmer finish plowing the row he was on. When he turned around, he spotted Ian and Rose sitting there on horseback, watching, and raised his hand in salute, then stopped the horse. Leaving the plow behind, he walked toward Ian and Rose and gave a bow, hat in hand. 

“My apologies, Your Grace, I didn’t see you there.”

Ian waved an airy hand. “It’s not a problem at all, Mr….”

“Morgan, sir. Henry Morgan.”

“Henry Morgan, a pleasure to meet you. May I introduce my wife, the Duchess?”

Henry bowed low. “An honor, ma’am, for you to visit my little farm.”

“What are you planting, Mr. Morgan?” Rose asked kindly. 

“Onions and spinach, ma’am.”

“Does the cold weather slow their growth? Forgive me and my ignorant questions,” she went on before he could answer. “I grew up in the city, so I know nothing of farming. I thought crops could only be grown in the warmer months?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. You’d think that, but onions and spinach are fine winter crops. Very hardy, grow very well in the cold. The onions grow so well, in fact, they hardly require any upkeep at all. It’s the spinach that keeps you hopping in the winter months.”

“Hopefully not too much,” Rose said with a touch of concern. “You deserve time to rest.”

“No, ma’am, not too much,” Henry said with a shake of his head. “It’s not too much work at all and besides, I’m grateful for the chance to keep busy. Otherwise, I’d spend a large part of the winter rusticating. We wouldn’t want that.”

“Of course not,” Rose said with a small smile. 

“How long have you worked this land?” Ian asked, fairly certain of the answer. 

“All my life,” Henry said proudly. “And my father worked it before me, and my grandfather before him. A Morgan man has worked this land for nearly a hundred years, and I’ll leave it behind to my son to work, too.”

“Well it seems you’re doing an excellent job,” Rose said graciously. “And I must say, Mr. Morgan, I’ve never cared much for spinach, but now, knowing how much work goes into it, I’m sure I’ll appreciate it much more. So thank you for that.”

Henry’s eyes brightened and he smiled broadly. “Nah, thank you, Your Grace!”

“We’ll let you get back to work,” Ian said with a quirk of his lips and a nod for Henry. “Sorry to have kept you.”

“Thank you for taking the time with me, Mr. Morgan,” Rose said. “If everyone I meet is as kind as you, I’ll have no trouble learning everything I need to know about cultivating the land.”

Henry Morgan flushed with pleasure. “It’s my honor, ma’am.”

“Good day, Mr. Morgan.”

“Yes, good day to you, sir.”

Ian smirked to himself when he saw Henry’s reaction to Rose’s bright smile. The farmer twisted his hat and stared after Rose, looking bemused. Ian could empathize completely. 

Once they were far enough away, he turned to her. “If you keep up like that, sweetheart, the tenants are going to shift their loyalties.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her brows knitted. 

“You charmed that man into speechlessness. He’d take up arms to protect you now.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Rose said, blushing a little. “How you go on. I only asked about his crops.”

“And his well being,” Ian pointed out. “I doubt Mr. Jones has ever taken the time to ensure that the tenants weren’t working too hard. It wouldn’t have occurred to me, either, honestly. But you… you, sweetheart, are just a naturally wonderful person who cares about people.”

“Well of course I _care_ ,” she said in a tone to suggest he were being ridiculous. “He’s a fellow human being. He should be treated with respect and dignity. My father had strict rules at his company about how long a man could work before he had to go home and rest. He always said that if you worked a man half to death, you’d only be getting half-decent work out of him. But if you treated him fairly, with dignity, and cared for his needs, he’d do his best for you.”

“Your father sounds very wise.” 

“I like to think so. He would have liked you.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. And not because of the title, although he’d have liked that very much. No, he’d have liked you as a person.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“I like you,” she said easily, then flushed to the roots of her hair and looked away. Ian couldn’t help but beam, chuffed as he was, but he didn’t say anything to embarrass her further.

They rode in silence for a while until the road passed beside the forest. Ian noticed that Rose was peering into the woods, as if looking for something. He didn’t say anything about it for a while, just watched her, amused. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “What are you doing?”

She looked sheepish. “Being silly. Never mind me.”

“No, really. What were you looking for, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to laugh at me if I tell you.”

“I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to help it, I’m being so ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

She looked around for a moment, anywhere but at him, then down at her hands. “I was looking for fairies.”

“Fairies?”

Rose nodded. “Yes, fairies. I’ve never really been in or around a real forest, you see, having grown up in London, and I’ve read so many stories about enchanted forests and the creatures that live in them… I know they don’t _really_ exist, of course, but it sparked my imagination, I guess. Now that I’m living near an actual forest, I wondered if it was enchanted, is all.”

“That’s not silly,” Ian told her. “In fact, Brax and I used to look for fairies and unicorns and all manner of creatures in the forest when we were little. We even had a tree fort to play in.”

“You did?”

“We did. I haven’t thought of that tree fort in years. I think I still remember how to get there. Would you like to see it?” 

“Of course!”

“And maybe we’ll see a fairy, if we’re lucky.”

Rose giggled and Ian turned Tardis around, headed back towards the grounds. Rose turned Idris and followed him. This little detour was more than likely going to knock them out of visiting the village today, but that was alright. The excited gleam in her eyes was more than enough to make up for the lost time. And besides, it wasn’t _really_ lost time. It was time spent with his sweetheart, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

~*~O~*~

Rose was tired when they returned to the manor house several hours later, just before dark, but she’d had a fantastic day with Ian. Going into the woods to find his tree fort had taken much longer than she’d expected and they’d never gotten to go to the village for luncheon, but she’d had so much fun with him she’d hardly noticed. It was easy for her to see how authors had gotten the inspiration to write about enchanted forests, even if they’d only ever visited completely ordinary woods, like these. The sun dappled the ground in pretty patterns that moved when the wind blew, and scurrying creatures left you with the impression that you weren’t alone. Ian showed her mushrooms growing in a circle - a fairy circle, he called it, with a twinkle in his eye - and how to determine what direction she was facing based on moss on tree trunks. They had finally found the old tree fort and Rose had wanted to climb up in it, but Ian wouldn’t let her, saying he couldn’t guarantee her safety. She’d been disappointed, but hadn’t put up a fuss.

They rode into the stables now after leaving Gallifrey Town and the business they had to attend to there, dismounting and handing over their horses to the stable boy for grooming. Rose patted Idris’ neck fondly before she was led away. 

“So you like Idris, do you?” 

“I do. She was very gentle, just like you said. I might like to take her out exploring sometime.”

Ian offered his elbow to her and she took it. They started walking back towards the manor house. “Well, she’s yours to do with as you please. All I ask is that you make sure you have an escort if you’re going to leave the grounds, until you know the area better.”

“Of course,” Rose agreed at once. Truth be told, she wasn’t likely to leave the grounds with anyone but Ian, certainly didn’t want to, but didn’t voice that out loud. 

“Looks like we’ll have just enough time to clean up before dinner,” Ian predicted, looking at the sun hanging just over the horizon. “Would you care to join me in the lounge after dinner?” 

Rose was taken aback. “You aren’t sick of me yet? I assumed you would want peace and quiet after a day full of me nattering at you.”

Ian chuckled. “You haven’t been nattering. Your company has been my very great pleasure. I’d like to remain in your company after dinner, if that’s agreeable to you.”

“Of course,” Rose agreed, still somewhat stunned. 

They walked the rest of the way up to the house, then Ian kissed her hand in the foyer in parting and said, “I’ll see you soon.” She murmured that she’d see him, then dashed up the stairs to her bedroom, ringing for Clara as soon as she got there. It was only a couple of minutes before the maid appeared, and they got to work getting Rose undressed. 

“How was it?” Clara asked. 

“Wonderful,” Rose gushed. “We had a lovely time.”

“Good! What did you do?”

Rose detailed the day’s adventures while Clara helped her disrobe and get herself dressed for dinner. She kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation until she described arriving in Gallifrey Town and meeting their neighbor, Lord Jack Harkness. 

“The man flirted with me - right in front of Ian!”

“How’d His Grace take that?”

“Not well, I don’t think. He looked extremely cross. So I put my hand in his, as if to tell Lord Harkness I wasn’t interested. That seemed to soothe his ruffled feathers a bit. But then the oddest thing happened…”

“What?”

“Lord Harkness flirted with Ian!”

Clara gaped at Rose. “He didn’t!”

“He did! And Ian didn’t even seem to notice!”

“Well, that should help dismiss that ridiculous idea Lord Oakdown put in your head. I’ve told you that the downstairs staff that have been here for years - the people who were here when His Grace was a child - none of them have even hinted at anything remotely similar to what his cousin was implying. And you know how servants like to gossip. I’d have heard by now.”

“But why would Lord Oakdown do that?” Rose wondered. 

“Maybe it’s just what Lady McAvoy said and he is just the sort of person who enjoys sowing discord.”

“Hmm. Maybe so.”

“Either way,” Clara went on, arranging Rose’s hair. “I wouldn’t give another thought to what he had to say. He was clearly lying.”

“But if it’s not true,” Rose reasoned, “why doesn’t Ian want me?”

“I still maintain that he _does_ want you. He’s just worried about scaring you for some reason.”

“That’s silly. Scare me how?”

“I don’t know. Men are strange creatures, I’m finding out.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “You’re finding out? And how, pray tell, are you doing that?”

Clara smirked as she worked on Rose’s hair. “I may or may not have gone for a stroll with the town’s schoolmaster today.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did.” 

“Did he kiss you?”

Clara blushed. “You know it’s poor manners to kiss and tell.”

Rose squealed happily, bouncing in her seat. “You have to tell me everything.”

“Not now,” Clara laughed. “You have dinner tonight. After dinner?”

“No, I’ve said I’ll spend the evening in the lounge with Ian after dinner.”

The maid’s eyes twinkled. “You spent all day together, now the evening as well? That sounds like a man besotted, to me.”

Rose sighed. “How I wish you were right.”

“There’s one way to find out, you know.”

“How?”

“Kiss him.”

“I could never!” Rose gasped. 

“You could, and then you’d know whether he wanted you or not. It would be in his kiss.”

Rose considered this for a moment. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

Kissing Ian… she’d spent hours thinking about the kiss from their wedding and wishing for a repeat. It had apparently been a Good Kiss, because she felt it all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes, the way Donna and Osgood had predicted. But what if he hadn’t felt the same? What if it had only been perfunctory on his part? What if she kissed him again and he pushed her away? How would she ever recover?

“I don’t think I’m that bold,” she confessed quietly. 

“I think you are _just_ that bold,” Clara assured her. “You just need time. You’ll get there.”


	19. Chapter 19

1 November, 1823

Ian had given Rose carte blanche to redecorate the manor, had even encouraged her to gut the house if she wished. She had demurred on going _that_ far, but had reluctantly taken his advice to do as she wished. Some of the most frequently used rooms had been updated while his brother, Brax, had been the Duke, and didn’t need much of her attention at all. Some rooms, however, had last been updated _decades_ before and were sorely in need of modernizing. Rose wanted the house to be a showplace that Ian would be proud to bring guests to, but also comfortable for them to live in. She worked hard to try to strike a balance between the two, hoping to make Ian proud. 

Their days had fallen into a routine in the last three weeks. Ian and Rose had breakfast together in the mornings before he went out to work - either with Mr. Jones to manage the estate or to the town to work in his medical practice with Dr. Sullivan. Rose liked the days when he was able to practice medicine best, simply because they were obviously Ian's favorite days as well. He clearly loved his chosen profession, and he was always more energetic when he’d been in the town, helping people, as opposed to discussing crop rotations. She looked forward to those evenings the most, when he’d tell her more about the townspeople he’d met. He was always so animated and affable those nights, much more so than usual. It made Rose wish he could serve as a doctor every day. 

In the evenings, he was always home in time to have dinner with her. Once or twice, she’d had to delay the meal a bit so he could change out of the muddy clothes he wore and clean up, but she didn’t mind waiting for him. It was worth it to spend time with him, to feel him smile at her. 

Dinner conversation was always lively, and they had no shortage of topics to talk about. She asked after what he’d been doing with Mr. Jones, and he showed a keen interest in her remodeling and redecorating efforts. He never complained of being inconvenienced, although there were frequently rooms that were unusable while they were being renovated. Rose had expected at least some complaint when his study was being painted, or the library, but he never made a peep of protest. It made her love him all the more. 

Every night, after dinner, he would invite her to join him in the library or a lounge to spend the evening together. Rose never declined, wouldn’t even dream of doing so. They would retire to whatever room was available and pass the time together, quietly reading or chatting about anything. He nearly always read books about estate management, and Rose took note of which books he read so she could sneak into the library and read them, also. Part of the agreement when he’d asked to marry her was that she’d be needed to help him with running Gallifrey, but so far, he hadn’t asked her for help. She read the books he was reading, as well as any others she could find, hoping to be ready when the time came and he asked for her input.

If it had been a hard day for Ian, either on the estate or in his office, he would ask her to read to him, then lay his head back against the chair and listen while she read aloud. It didn’t matter what she was reading, really, he seemed to enjoy it. Rose had a hard time concentrating when he did that: instead of the pages, her eyes were drawn to the length of his neck as it extended and the way his face softened in relaxation. It made her want to see him while he slept, but she did her best to brush that aside as a foolish notion. It would never happen, and dwelling on the impossible was only serving to make her sad. 

Every evening, when the time came for them to retire, he would walk her to the door of her bedroom - still the room adjacent to his - and hold both of her hands in his while he wished her sweet dreams. He would lean over and press a kiss to her cheek, setting her heart to gallop. Then he would bid her goodnight and leave her there, standing outside her door, wanting nothing more than to call him back and truly kiss him. 

Overall, nothing had changed, and although Rose hadn’t realistically expected anything to be different, she was still disappointed. She told herself it was foolish to hope, but deep down inside, she wanted to be with Ian in every way and dreamed of one day being his wife fully. Being so close but yet so far was driving her spare. She spent hours and hours trying to figure out a way to signal to him that she loved him and wanted more, but short of blatantly showing or telling him how she felt, she was coming up empty for ideas. She wondered what his reaction would be if she was completely honest and told him she was in love with him. If she were to spill her secret, she could imagine him reacting in any number of ways. First - and most likely - he might regard her with pity. There was a chance that, out of that pity, he would grant her a full marriage, but his heart wouldn’t be in it. She didn’t want that. If he were to hold her and kiss her, she wanted it to be out of a wealth of emotion and genuine desire, not out of pity. 

She didn’t even allow herself to think on the option that he may confess his love to her, too. That was completely out of the realm of possibility, to her mind. If he loved her, he’d have shown her by now. 

The other option she had was to follow Clara’s advice and kiss him, but the outcome of that was equally questionable. Would he kiss her back, or push her away? The idea of him pushing her away angrily for taking liberties was upsetting, but there was always the slight chance that he may kiss her back, and _that_ idea was utterly exhilarating. Was the risk of being pushed away worth the potential reward of him kissing her the way she wanted?

Rose left the library, on her way to the kitchen to speak with Cook about making Ian something special for dinner. Lost in a daydream about kissing her husband, she clutched the book she'd been reading about crop distribution to her chest. She’d almost convinced herself to try when she heard a shout from above her. She looked up to see something huge dangling over the balcony. It looked like a couch, from what she could tell. She barely had time to wonder what on earth it was doing suspended in air before a rope that was securing it snapped and it started to plummet to the earth. 

She didn’t have time to scream.

~*~O~*~

“Gout is a beast to treat, Mrs. Taylor, but if you rest that foot, keep it elevated when you can, and apply that poultice, I promise you’ll see some relief. It’s not a cure,” Ian warned the elderly woman, “but you’ll be able to get around better.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the woman gushed. “I’ve tried everything, but it only gets worse. So any relief would be --”

The door behind them swung open and Ian spun around to see Nardole standing there, panting, his eyes wide. 

“Are you alright, Nardole?”

“Doctor… come quickly… your wife…”

All the blood drained out of his face. “What about my wife?”

“Accident,” Nardole gasped. “At the manor.”

Ian didn’t hear anything else as he bolted from the room, Mrs. Taylor and her gout forgotten. His heart pounded in his ears as he ran to the front of the building, untied Tardis and jumped on his back, spurring the horse into the fastest gallop he could. He could barely think of anything. All that was in his mind was Rose’s sweet face. What if she - _no_. Nardole would have said. 

Nevertheless, he spurred the horse to go faster. 

The short distance to the house had never taken so long, and Ian was nearly thrown from his horse when he brought it to an abrupt stop at the front door. His heart in his throat, he jumped off the horse and tossed the reins to a footman, then blew past him through the door. What he saw when he stepped inside nearly stopped his heart - a large sofa, crashed to the ground, smashed to pieces. A book lay nearby. 

” _Rose!_ ” he bellowed, running in the general direction of her bedroom. “ _ROSE!_ ”

Strax appeared. “Ah, Your Grace. You’ve --”

“Where’s Rose?” He demanded, not slowing down. “Is she alright?”

“A bit manly in disposition, I think, but otherwise --”

“ _Where is she_?!”

“In her bedroom, Your Grace.”

Ian took the stairs at a run, two at a time, not slowing when he reached the corridor. Wide-eyed servants dove out of his way as he barrelled down the hall. He didn’t wait when he finally arrived at her door, simply thrust it open and rushed in, her name on his lips. 

Rose was sitting on the bed, clearly trying to get up but being thwarted by the combined efforts of Clara, Madame Vastra, and Jenny. 

“I’m fine,” she protested, then looked up and spotted Ian. She sighed, disgruntled. “Now look what you’ve done. He’s upset. I told you --”

“Rose,” he said on a strangled breath, then rushed over to the bed, gathering her in his arms. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” she claimed, although her arms went around him as well, and he held her closer. “I’m fine, Ian.”

“I was so scared,” he breathed, then squeezed her again. “So scared.”

“I’m not hurt,” she told him, her voice a little muffled by his shoulder.

“She hit her head,” Clara said, reminding Ian that they weren’t alone. Reluctantly, in the face of Rose’s partner, he let go of her. 

“You hit your head?” he asked. 

“And her knee,” Madame Vastra supplied.

“Should we send for the doctor, Your Grace?” Jenny asked. 

Rose’s vehement assertion that she didn’t need a doctor stepped all over Ian saying, “I _am_ a doctor.” She flushed, and he did, too. 

“Dr. Sullivan is on the way, in case you need help,” Nardole volunteered from the door. 

Rose looked up into Ian’s eyes and he cupped her cheek instinctively. “I’m fine, Ian. Honestly. Just a couple of bumps.”

“Show me,” he said, doing his best to go into clinician mode. Rose tilted her head and raised her hand to point to the spot she’d hit. He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling the lump that was forming and earning a hiss of pain from Rose. He didn’t feel blood, however, which was good, and all of the swelling seemed to be external, which was even better. External swelling meant there was less likelihood of internal swelling putting pressure on the brain, which could be lethal. 

“Does your head hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But not so bad for having a sofa dropped on it.”

“Did she lose consciousness?” he asked the room at large. 

“No,” said Madame Vastra. “She was a little dazed when I found her, but not terribly so.”

“It barely clipped me,” Rose told him with a small smile. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

She certainly seemed alright, and his relief was palpable. “What about your knee?”

“I landed on it when I fell,” she explained. “It hurts, but not terribly.”

“We’ll have Dr. Sullivan examine you when he gets here,” he declared, not missing Nardole’s odd look. 

“Why don’t _you_ do it?” Rose blurted, then her cheeks pinkened. Ian stared at her, wondering if she knew what she was saying. “I only mean, if I need an examination, it seems silly to wait for Dr. Sullivan. You’re already here, and it would put this silliness behind us.”

In a low voice, he said, “Sweetheart, in order to examine your knee, I’m going to have to raise your skirt and touch you. Is that alright?”

Her cheeks were redder than a summer apple and her eyes were wide. She nodded without saying a word, and Ian’s heart pounded. 

“Everybody out but Clara,” he barked without taking his eyes from Rose. 

“I can go,” Clara said quietly as all of the others filed out. 

“No,” he said, thinking of Rose’s comfort. “You can stay.”

Once the last person - Nardole - had left the room, Ian knelt down beside the bed in front of Rose. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling to touch her, but he reminded himself firmly that she wouldn’t want that, this was strictly professional, that Rose’s lover was observing him and it was imperative that he not forget himself. This was his wife, but in name only. She didn’t welcome his touch. 

He raised the skirt to reveal her knees and knew at once which one had been injured. There was an angry purple bruise marring her fair skin, and it covered most of her knee. He prodded it gently to make sure nothing was broken, then had her raise and lower her foot to check that it bent. He did his damndest not to trace his fingers along her skin while still cherishing every moment of this touch. 

“I think you’ll be alright,” he said, lowering her skirt again. “But you should take it easy the rest of the day. Stay off your feet.”

“That’s not necessary,” Rose huffed. “I have things to do!”

“Yes, and the most pressing thing you have to do right now is _stay off that knee_ ,” Ian persisted. “That’s not even taking your head injury into consideration.”

“It’s just a bump!”

“You need to stay here and recuperate for the rest of the day.”

“But Ian!”

“Clara can stay with you. I’m sure she’ll want to.”

“Clara has something she needs to do,” Rose said sourly. 

Clara tried to interject. “Rose, I --”

“Hush,” she snapped at her maid with a mulish expression. “You _do_. Now go. If Ian wants me abed so badly, he can stay here with me. And I’m only staying in bed until dinner.”

Ian was absolutely giddy with the idea of spending a few stolen hours with Rose - and she’d chosen him over Clara! He smiled, was unable to help it, but did say, “We’ll see about you getting out of bed when dinnertime is closer at hand. For now, lie back and rest.”

Clara looked uncertain. “Rose, are you sure --”

“Go to your appointment,” Rose said primly, then her eyes twinkled at her maid. “My husband is here.”

Something passed between the two of them that Ian didn’t understand, but he didn’t argue. Rose had chosen him over Clara, and he was beside himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started a new story! It's (yet another) Ian and Rose, an actor/fan AU, and I'm really excited about it! 
> 
> [Click here to read Chapter 1!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)


	20. Chapter 20

After a little more protesting, Ian and Clara were able to get Rose into her bed properly, propped up against all the pillows they could find, with her knee elevated a bit. As soon as she was situated, she demanded that Clara leave to go to her ‘appointment’, and the maid wasn’t to come back until it was time to dress for dinner. Clara sighed but threw up her hands and left. Once they were alone, Ian asked Rose what appointment Clara had that was so important, but his wife wouldn’t tell him. “That’s Clara’s business,” was all she’d say, while her eyes twinkled. 

Ian pulled a chair over to Rose’s bedside to sit and pass the time with her. He’d barely gotten situated before there was a knock at the door. Strax was there, announcing that Dr. Sullivan had arrived. Ian hovered by the bed anxiously while the other doctor did his examination of Rose’s head and knee, breathing easier when she got the same diagnoses and prescription for rest he’d given her a half hour before. 

“I’ll stay off my feet until dinner,” she said stubbornly, “and then life will go back to normal. I don’t have time to be infirmed.”

Ian sighed. “Rose…”

Dr. Sullivan chuckled. “If you feel up to pursuing your normal activities this evening, I see no reason why you shouldn’t. But I would advise you to take it easy. I’d avoid dancing for a few days.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan,” Ian said, shaking the man’s hand in parting. 

“Yes, thank you, Dr. Sullivan,” Rose echoed with a sweet smile. 

“Your Graces.” Dr. Sullivan made a small bow and left the room.

When Ian took his seat again, Rose was smiling at him, looking smug. 

“What?”

“The doctor says I can get up this evening. You said I couldn’t.”

“I said we’d see about it.”

“Same thing.”

He grinned, shaking his head, and settled into his seat. “Is my company so terrible? You seem very anxious to escape it.”

“Of course not,” Rose answered with a little flush. “I’m just pleased to be able to get back to my normal routine.”

“Well, I won’t hold you back,” Ian said. “Dinner would be dreadfully dull without you.”

Rose giggled, and the two lapsed into quiet. 

The afternoon passed. They both read quietly to themselves, then Rose napped for a short while. Ian watched her diligently, mindful of her head injury. All manner of nightmare scenarios played out in his mind, and he fought the urge to wake her early. She awakened on her own, though, after about an hour, and he could have collapsed in relief. He wasn’t able to stop himself from covering her little hand with his, curling his fingers around it. Rose smiled demurely when he did. 

Nardole brought the book that had been dropped near the ruined sofa to the room a little later, and Ian raised a brow when he saw it. 

“Crop rotation?”

Rose flushed. “When you asked me to marry you, you said you’d need my help running Gallifrey. I just want to be prepared when you ask.”

“Rose, there’s no need for you to study up on the topic. I never meant that.”

“I know. But I want to be of use to you.”

His heart melted and he brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss there. “You don’t have to earn your keep, sweetheart. And if you’re worried about being useful, well, just having you there to talk to in the evenings is all I really need.”

“I can do more though, Ian. I would like to be your helpmate, your partner - in all areas. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be, as your wife?”

Her brown eyes were earnest, almost imploring, and he was dying to kiss her. He wanted nothing more than for her to be his partner in every way. If only…

No. That would never happen. But he could give her this.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have left you out. I’ll be coming to you more from now on, and asking for your input.”

Rose smiled brilliantly and he resolved to lean on her heavily, if it made her so happy.

~*~O~*~

Clara returned forty-five minutes before dinner, sweeping into Rose’s room humming with a smile. Rose grinned to herself when she saw it, pleased for her maid. Clara had dropped everything and left the country with Rose when she’d fled Jimmy Stone. She deserved happiness, and Rose was glad she seemed to have found it in this Mr. Pink.

As soon as Clara arrived, Ian’s entire demeanor changed. He had been chipper and playful, but his mood turned into something more resigned. Rose gave him a puzzled look when she noticed, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she tried to tease him back into lightheartedness. 

“And there you have it, Ian. It’s nearly time for dinner, and my confinement is at an end.”

He snorted a little. “I’ve hardly been keeping you prisoner, Rose.”

“Well, if you were, and I was sentenced to an afternoon with you, I’d gladly pay the penalty again,” she flirted. 

Ian gaped at her for a moment, before his face spread into a bright smile. “I’ll remember that,” he promised. 

Rose flushed, then squeezed his hand. “Go,” she said, using her head to indicate the door. “I have to get ready for dinner, and you do, too.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’s your head?”

“My head only hurts when I touch the lump and I don’t intend on doing that very much.”

“How about your knee? Can I help you stand?”

Rose wasn’t fool enough to turn down the opportunity for him to touch her again, but she didn’t dare let him know she wanted to be touched. Instead, she rolled her eyes with a smile. “If that’s what will make you feel better…”

Ian smiled at that and got to his feet. Rose scooted to the edge of the bed, putting her feet on the ground, and took his offered hands. With his support, she stood, doing her best not to wince at the pain in her knee. Her husband noticed anyway.

“That hurts, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not bad. I just need to walk on it a bit.” He held her hand as she made a circuit of the room, each step less painful than the last. She looked up at him with a smile. “See? It’s better already.”

He didn’t look reassured. Clara spoke up from behind Rose. “I’ll take care of her, Your Grace. I won’t let her do anything too strenuous.”

Ian looked up at Clara and his expression was almost anguished. Rose didn’t understand at all and was about to ask him what was wrong when he spoke in a tight voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine in your capable hands, Clara.” To Rose, he said, “Would you like me to come back here to escort you to the parlor before dinner?”

She gave him a knowing smile. “Would that make you feel better, too?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“Alright. Give me thirty minutes or so to get dressed, and we can go down to dinner together.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “As you wish, sweetheart. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Clara?”

The maid took a step forward. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Thank you for taking care of Rose.”

“It’s my pleasure, Your Grace.”

Ian pressed one more kiss to the back of Rose’s hand and then turned to leave. She waited until he was gone, then whirled around to Clara with a huge smile. 

“Tell me all about it. Every romantic detail.”

Clara beamed, gesturing to the stool in front of the vanity. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you.”

~*~O~*~

After a delicious dinner, the Dochertys adjourned to the library. Rose continued reading the book about crop rotation, earning a warm smile from Ian, and he read a medical journal. The evening passed quietly until the time came to retire. Ian was hesitant to call an end to their evening - except for Rose’s injury, it had been the ideal day, spending so much time with her - but he reluctantly put his book to the side when the clock struck ten and offered to escort her to her room. 

She slid her hand into his elbow and they walked slowly towards the bedrooms. Her proximity was dizzying, just as it always was, making him wish for impossible things. This was enough, he told himself. This moment where it was only the two of them and he could pretend to be her everything, it was enough. It would have to be. 

When they reached her room, she turned and looked up at him with a smile. “Thank you for taking care of me today. I hope I wasn’t too disagreeable of a patient.”

He chuckled and took both of her hands into his. “You were fine, sweetheart. I’m only sorry you were injured at all.”

“Certainly not your fault,” she said.

“No, it was the careless mistake of the movers. Perhaps Strax is right and I should have challenged them to cross swords for being so careless,” he joked.

Rose giggled, just as he’d hoped she would. “Please don’t. You would have been outnumbered ten to one. I’d rather not lose you in a challenge to a moving company.”

Ian grinned. “Well at least then you’d be able to marry a husband more to your liking.”

Her smile faded a little and she gazed up into his eyes. “I already have a husband to my liking,” she said quietly. 

His heart nearly stopped and he searched her face. Could she mean it? He’d never known her to lie, or even to give false flattery. Could she really mean that she was pleased to be married to him? What about Clara?

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a small smile, doing his best to brush the moment aside. “But now it’s time for you to rest.”

“Do I have to?”

“Rest is restorative.”

“I feel fine.”

“You still need your rest.”

She sighed, but with a smile. “Yes, Doctor.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, then leaned over to kiss her cheek. She moved just as his lips brushed her skin and before he knew what had happened, he was kissing his wife. 

He didn’t dare move at first, paralyzed by what was happening and desperate for it never to end. When her lips slid against his, however, and she _didn’t move away_ , he sank into the kiss. His hands left hers to rest at her waist delicately, fearful of breaking the spell, and his thumbs caressed her sides, hungry for any touch. His lips parted over hers ever so slightly and she reciprocated: he caught her lower lip between his for just a moment before releasing it. Testing his own daring, his hands slid around her, pulling her closer, and his tongue dipped between her lips, tasting her for the first time. She whimpered in his arms and he flexed his fingers, kneading her. 

The door opened behind them and in an instant, they broke apart, Ian setting her away from him at a proper distance. He looked over to see who had interrupted them and saw Clara, wide-eyed but with one corner of her open mouth quirked.

“Beg pardon,” she said, then faded back into Rose’s room and closed the door. 

Ian just stared at the door for a moment, doing his damndest to gather his thoughts, not having much luck. He’d just kissed Rose the way he’d always wanted to, only to be interrupted by Rose’s lover. If she _hadn’t_ interrupted, he might have - well, he didn’t know what he might have done, but it was probably for the best that Clara had opened the door when she did. 

“I’m sorry, I --” he started without looking at her, then stopped himself. He _wasn’t_ sorry, and he’d vowed to himself never to lie to his wife. What else could he possibly say?

“Ian…” 

He finally looked at her, giving her a tight smile. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said quickly with a little bow, then turned before she could say anything else and walked away.

~*~O~*~

Ian stormed down the stairs and towards his study, growing angrier with himself with every step. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his own control slip like that? Was he some sort of animal, with no better command over his base instincts? 

He threw open the door to the study when he got there and stomped inside, across the room to the credenza where the decanters of spirits sat. Without allowing himself to think, he poured himself a generous glass of scotch, downed it in two gulps, then poured another. He strongly considered cutting out the middleman and drinking directly from the bottle, but snorted derisively at himself. He may not be able to control himself around his wife, but he could refrain from stooping _that_ low. He emptied the second tumbler and poured a third, then stared at the liquid in the glass plaintively, his mood suddenly gone from furious to maudlin. 

There was no way around it that he could see: he was going to go mad. Stronger and greater men than him had been driven to insanity by love, and he seemed destined to join their ranks. He had thought he would be able to withstand it when he married her. Hell, even after he saw her in that blasted lingerie and learned just how delectable she looked in skimpy satin, he’d thought he’d be able to withstand the temptation she presented. But he could see no salvation for himself, now that he’d kissed her. Her taste, her smell, the way her curves pressed against him - that was all going to haunt him now, for the rest of his days. He was going to drown in her, and he wasn’t even allowed to touch her. 

In a flash, rage overtook him again, and he hurled the tumbler across the room, watching it explode in a shower of glass when it hit the opposite wall. He didn’t even flinch. He just stood there and watched the scotch slide down the wall in little droplets. 

The door to his study opened but he didn’t bother looking up. The only person who would enter without knocking was Nardole, and he wasn’t in the mood to be bothered with whatever was on his manservant’s mind tonight. 

“Go away,” he snapped.

“Fight with Her Grace?” the other man asked.

“I’m fine, Nardole. Go to bed.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice. Trouble sleeping?”

“Nardole…”

"Seems to me there's a nice warm bed upstairs with your name on it."

Ian closed his eyes and counted to five. In a lower voice, almost to himself, he said, “My bed is anything but warm. And it never will be.”

“Care to tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Seems there is. I’ve been meaning to ask you, Doctor, why do you not share your bed with your wife?”

Hot anger bristled inside of him again. “That’s none of your concern,” he growled.

Nardole didn’t seem swayed. “Call it curiosity. She’s a lovely woman and you’re obviously mad about her. Why doesn’t she sleep with you?”

“She doesn’t want to.” Ian gritted out.

“She doesn’t?”

“No. Her heart belongs to another.” He turned back to the credenza and poured another drink. If he were going to talk about this, he was likely to need it.

Nardole waited a couple of moments, then asked, “Are you sure about that?”

Ian swallowed the scotch, grimacing at the burn - or perhaps the topic. “Quite sure.”

“I’ve seen no evidence of such a thing.”

“I assure you, it’s true. Now can we please drop this? Or better yet, go away.”

Nardole was heedless. “Who is it you think she loves?”

“I fail to see how this is any of your concern.”

“It’s not my concern, but _you_ are, and I’m fairly certain you’re laboring under a false impression.”

He was brought up short for a second. Could he be…? No. The scotch must be stronger than he remembered. “I’m not. I’ve seen the bloody evidence of it with my own eyes.”

"She has no gentlemen callers,” Nardole pointed out.

"Well, she wouldn't, now would she?” Ian snarked. Then under his breath, he muttered, “Her lover resides right under my own damn roof.”

Nardole’s eyes were huge. "Just who do you think..."

Ian threw up his hands in exasperation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. She loves her maid. Alright? Clara. She loves her bloody maid.”

The other man just gaped at him for a second, then burst into laughter. Ian blinked at him, stunned that he’d laugh at such a thing, then shook his head. “I’m pleased you find amusement in my anguish, but I find nothing funny about this.”

“Forgive me, Doctor, but it really is almost comical that you could be so mistaken. A man as clever as you.”

“Mistaken about _what_? I’ve told you, I’ve seen evidence with my own eyes.”

“You’ve seen them together? Intimately?”

His cheeks heated. “No, of course not. But I’ve seen them together outside of the bedroom, and it’s obvious they love each other.”

Nardole took a step closer to him, no longer laughing, but the traces of a smile still on his face. “Doctor, Her Grace’s maid is having a relationship with the town’s schoolteacher, Danny Pink.”

“ _What_?!”

“It’s true. It’s been going on almost from the minute she arrived here. There are rumors he plans to marry her.”

Ian’s mind was racing and tumbling, trying to make sense of this. How could it be? “That’s not possible,” he said feebly. “Rose --”

“Haven’t you noticed she gives her maid off every Saturday and Sunday afternoon? Surely you noticed so today. She insisted that Clara keep ‘her appointment’ and had you stay at her bedside. Her Grace does so so Clara can see her beau.”

If that were true… if that were _true_ , then he’d been mistaken about his entire relationship with his wife. He’d been making himself miserable, driving himself spare, for no good reason. 

Nardole must have seen the wheels turning in Ian’s mind. “How’s that bed seem now, Doctor?”

The other man’s voice broke into Ian’s thoughts. He cleared his throat, hoping to regain some sense of dignity, then nodded to Nardole. “If you’ll excuse me, Nardole, I think it’s time I retired.”

He paid no attention to his manservant’s smug looks as he made his way out of the study and towards his bedroom. It was too late to bother Rose, he thought, but he had lots and lots of thinking to do. Already, his mind’s eye was replaying every moment he’d spent with Rose, but now he saw everything in a whole new light. 

When he’d met her and assumed that she and Clara were together, what if Nardole was right and they were just more friendly than the average employer and servant? He and Nardole were close, and no one had ever mistaken them for being in a romantic relationship. The gentle pats to Rose’s hands could have been simple kindness. Rose asking after Clara’s comfort could have been the same. Had he been wrong?

He arrived at his room and started disrobing slowly, pulling off his jacket and cravat and tossing them aside, his mind bobbing and weaving and swirling. He wandered to the chairs in front of the hearth - the chair he’d spent such a long night in the night he’d married Rose - and sat down, staring blankly at the fire. 

The night they’d married and she’d met him wearing the negligee - could she genuinely have been offering herself to him? Wouldn’t simple jealousy have prompted Clara to try to put a stop to that, had they been lovers? Surely she must know that he and Rose had agreed to a marriage in name only. Why would Clara have permitted her to offer herself when it wasn’t necessary? And even if he _had_ been expecting to make love to his wife that night, just that once, it would have been very easy to feed Rose a line about how miserable lovemaking was for a woman and counsel her that she should pretend to sleep when he came in. Why had Clara not done that?

 _Because they weren’t lovers,_ a little voice whispered at the back of his mind. _They never were._

He pulled off his boots, still staring into the fire, even more moments from their marriage playing out. Had Rose meant her vows when she’d made them? Did she really intend to love, honor, and cherish him? When he was honest with himself, he’d had no indication otherwise. Rose had been the perfect wife to him in every way but one - the one way he’d insisted on. 

And then there was the kiss they’d just shared a short while ago. She’d felt so good in his arms, so willing. He’d let himself believe for a moment that she wanted him, but what if she did? What if she’d been kissing him because she desired him as much as he desired her? And he’d pushed her away. 

Oh, God, he’d pushed her away. What had he done?

He leapt to his feet and dashed out of the door, towards Rose’s room.


	21. Chapter 21

The flames danced merrily in the grate, but although Rose was staring right at them, she didn’t see. She was curled in the chair in front of the fireplace, her dressing gown wrapped around her, trying to keep out the autumn chill. But even though she shivered occasionally, she barely noticed. Her mind was in turmoil, reliving the scene with Ian when he’d escorted her to her room over and over. 

It had been an impulse to kiss him, a decision made in a flash, but she’d felt sure he would return her kiss. After the genuine worry he’d displayed when he’d arrived after her accident and his tender care for her throughout the day, she’d been so sure… yet she’d been completely wrong. Once again, her hopes had been dashed. 

Unbidden, a tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she wiped it away impatiently. She’d cried enough over this, and crying did no good. Her tears accomplished nothing. It was time to face the fact: her husband didn’t want her and never would. She may expire with love for him, but it was all one-sided. His heart would never be hers. It was time to stop wishing for impossible things. And she would, Rose vowed to herself. Her days of pining for Ian were at an end, starting right now. 

Shivering, she wrapped her dressing gown around herself more snugly. Clara had stayed as long as Rose would permit, providing a shoulder for her to cry on after Ian had left her standing outside her room alone. She had cried until she felt she had no tears left, and when she’d finally gotten hold of herself, she’d shooed Clara away. There was nothing her maid could say to make it better anyway, although she certainly tried. No, this was simply a matter of Rose making up her mind and sticking with it. She would be his wife in name only, just as he wished it, and she would no longer try for more.

Against her own better judgment (and ignoring the resolution she’d just made for herself), Rose wondered what would have happened had Clara not opened the door when she had. Would he have come to his own senses eventually, without the interruption? Or would he have allowed himself to get carried away, sweeping her into her bedroom and making love to her? What would his lips feel like against the skin of her neck? What would his hands --

A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her imaginings. It was too late for any of the staff to need her unless there was an emergency, and even if there were, Clara would likely bring the news. Clara never knocked, so it couldn’t be her. Who could it be?

She got to her feet and went to the door, pausing a moment to tie her dressing gown more securely before she opened it. She gasped when she saw Ian standing there, nearly undressed in only his shirtsleeves and his trousers, his eyes wild and hair in disarray, as if he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.

“Ian! Are you alright?” 

“You’ve been crying,” he observed, his voice strained.

Rose stiffened. “I had a moment, but I’m quite alright now. What are you doing here?”

“I came because… Well… What I mean to say is…” His hand raked through his hair again, mussing it further, then dropped beside him. “Damn it, Rose, I have no idea what to say right now.”

She had no idea what to say either, and just stared at him blankly. Finally, he seemed to gather his wits and cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment before you retire. There is something I wish to discuss.”

Rose felt herself sag at his formal tone, but nodded. “Of course. Do come in.” She swung the door wider to allow him entrance, then closed it behind them. Before he had a chance to speak, she said, “I think I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She looked over at the fire, then at her vanity, then down at the floor - anywhere but at him, willing herself not to cry again. _Keep it together, Rose,_ she admonished herself. Taking a deep breath, she let the words come out before she lost her nerve. “I acted in an unseemly manner when you escorted me to my bedroom earlier this evening. It was behavior unbecoming of a duchess, and I apologize. It won’t happen --”

Before she could finish, he stepped forward, threading his fingers through her loose, flowing hair, and kissing her desperately. She yielded to him at once, her body molding to his, and he groaned before he threw his arm around her waist to pull her even closer. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, begging entrance, and she surrendered to him willingly, gladly. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating out an exultant rhythm. Ian was kissing her!

She didn’t wait another second before she slid her arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as she could. He squeezed her, his fingers flexing against her flesh, his tongue seeking out the recesses of her mouth. Shyly, she sent her own tongue out to meet and caress his. He moaned at her response and kissed her harder. 

They were both breathless when he broke away a minute later, looking down at her with smoldering eyes. She played with the hair at the back of his neck, feeling dazed, gazing back up at him, doing her best to show him everything and hold nothing back. After a moment, he dipped his head and kissed her again, softly this time, and she thought she’d float away. 

When he pulled back again she chased him a little, wanting more, but he spoke. “I’m an idiot, sweetheart, the world’s biggest fool, and I need you to forgive me. Please, please, say you’ll forgive me.”

“Ian --”

“I’ve hurt you, Rose, and I’ve made you cry, and that’s the last thing I ever want. Ever.”

Her heart pounding, she asked, “What _do_ you want?”

“I want _you_ , sweetheart. I want to stay with you tonight. I want to greet the morning with you in my arms, safe from the night. I won’t touch you, if you don’t want - but I want to. I want to kiss you and caress you, to shelter and cherish you. To make love to you. And that’s all I want.”

Rose’s eyes were wide. It was more than she’d ever dreamed he’d say. But she had to be sure... “You said, when you proposed, that you wanted a wife in name only. You said --”

“I know what I said,” he cut her off hurriedly. “And it was true when I said it. I never lied to you, Rose. But things have changed and now I feel as if I’ll die if I don’t touch you. I’ll simply go up in flames from wanting you.”

“Ian --”

“But that doesn’t matter. I’ll gladly burn to a cinder, if that’s not what you want. If you want nothing more than a marriage of convenience, we’ll go on as we have been, and that will be fine. I’ll live, and happily, just being able to exist in your orbit. But if you _don’t_ want that, sweetheart, if you want _me_ even a little, I’ll make you the happiest woman who ever lived. I swear it. I _swear_ , Rose.”

“I want that,” she told him, and he broke into a radiant smile.

“You do?”

Rose nodded. “I - I do. I just…”

He stroked her back lovingly. “You just what, sweetheart?”

“I just don’t understand. Sometimes I thought this was what you wanted, but other times…” She blinked back tears at the memory of the times he’d rejected her. “Why didn’t you want me?” she asked in a small voice.

“Oh, Rose. I wanted you. I wanted you so much I could barely see straight. I didn’t do anything about it because I’m a fool, a bloody damn fool.”

“But why did you want a marriage of convenience to begin with?”

Ian kissed her softly. “I promise to tell you everything, sweetheart. I’ll answer every question you have, and even some you haven’t thought to ask yet. But please, let’s talk about it tomorrow. Tonight… Tonight, I just need to hold you and touch you. Please.”

It was like all of her dreams had come true at once. Ian wanted her. He wanted her! If he hadn’t been holding onto her so tightly, she knew she could have flown in that moment. But he’d said he wanted to make love, and now that the moment was at hand, she felt nervous. 

He must have sensed a shift in her mood, because he dipped his head to catch her eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’ve heard it hurts,” she admitted, her eyes downcast. “Joining with a man. I was told that the marital bed is… not pleasurable, at least at first, and I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he started, stroking her back gently. “A woman’s first time can be painful, yes, but it’s not terrible. A bit like the prick of a needle: sharp and quick and forgotten in a moment.”

“Really?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes, really. And when that pain is past, depending on the skill of your lover, it’s nothing _but_ pleasurable. I guarantee it. And it never hurts again, not after that first time.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, sweetheart.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “The first pain is unavoidable, but I’ll never hurt you, Rose. Never. I’d rather die.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You said ‘depending on the skill of my lover’...”

“Yes?”

She fluttered her lashes a little, flirting. “Am I to assume my husband is skilled in just such a way?”

He chuckled then kissed her, softly but thoroughly. “Let me show you, sweetheart,” he implored. “Let me make love to you then hold you all night.”

Rose nodded and he let go of a breath, smiling, then decorated her face with kisses. “Thank you,” he breathed between tiny busses to her cheeks, forehead, chin, and nose. “Thank you.”

She caught his lips with hers, boldly kissing him, carding her fingers through his hair. He groaned into her mouth when she scratched his scalp, and she couldn’t help but smirk. His hands wandered, sliding into places that Rose had never been touched before. She gasped aloud when his thumb brushed her nipple, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She felt something hard against her abdomen but didn’t wonder what it was - it was Ian, and therefore, she wanted it.

“Sweetheart,” he panted when they broke apart. He cupped her cheek and his piercing aqua eyes implored hers. “May I take you to the bed?”

She nodded, her eyes wide, and he kissed her one more time before he took her hand and led her across the room to the bed. She looked at it uncertainly when they got there, then looked up at him questioningly. He smiled down at her and kissed her lightly, then his hand dropped to the knot of her dressing gown. 

“Is this alright?”

She nodded, wordless, and he tugged on the sash, releasing the knot. Her dressing gown fell open, revealing her thin chemise. Ian brought his hands up to her shoulders, pushing the fabric of the dressing gown aside and down her arms. She just watched him watching her, still as a statue, her heart pounding erratically. His eyes roamed her, and she could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her skin. He brought one hand up and traced her collarbone lightly, watching the path of his fingertips as gooseflesh broke out in their wake. 

“You’re like a goddess come to earth to save my wretched soul.”

“Your soul is beautiful,” she whispered in return. _And I love you_ , she didn’t say. 

“I’m going to take off my clothes now. Is that alright?”

She nodded, wide-eyed, and he kissed her again, lips and tongue dancing with hers. Every cell in her body rejoiced. After a moment, she missed his hands on her and pulled away to ask him what was wrong, only to take in the sight of him unbuttoning and tugging his shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly, leaving himself bare-chested. She was speechless in the face of it. She’d seen drawings of nude and semi-nude men before in her books about Greece and Rome, so she’d thought she knew what a man would look like unclothed. But that had not prepared her for the reality of her husband standing before her. He was perfectly formed, perhaps slightly less muscular than the sketches she’d seen, but altogether more beautiful. There was no hair on his chest, but a dusting below his navel that she wanted to touch. When she looked down further, her eyes went wide. There was a bulge there that seemed enormous, and she knew that was meant for her. 

As she stared, his hands went to the button on his trousers and he started to release it. Her breath caught and he paused. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Rose tore her eyes away from the bulge and back up to his eyes. He looked concerned for her, and his hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her. She tried to smile to reassure him, but could only nod. “I’m fine,” she croaked.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she hastened to assure him. “I truly do.”

He kissed her again, effectively distracting her, and she felt movement but didn’t dare look. He broke the kiss after a couple of minutes but she stayed still, her eyes closed and her face tilted upwards. 

“You can look, Rose,” he said gently, and her eyes fluttered open. His eyes were anxious, concerned, but he smiled to reassure her. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

Curiosity got the better of her and her eyes slid down his body to where he was hard for her. She gasped when she saw it, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. It looked nothing like the books she’d read. Those had been small and had just looked like extra bits tacked on. Ian’s was much larger, jutting up proudly from the thatch of dark hair between his legs. It was oddly beautiful, she thought, and wondered idly why no sculptures she’d seen portrayed a man like this.

Without thinking, she reached forward to touch it, catching herself just before she did and withdrawing her hand as if he had burned her. 

“It’s alright,” he said again, and she looked up at him. The corner of his mouth was quirked, but his blue-green eyes blazed. “You can touch it. I want you to.”

Timidly, she reached forward again, extending her hand towards his manhood. She touched it tentatively, then rested her fingertips on it. It was warm, smooth and hard, yet somehow still soft. It brought to mind satin - if it were wrapped around iron. 

Slowly, she ran her fingertips down his length, exploring him, enjoying the feel of his skin under hers. Ian just watched her, his eyes smoldering. Feeling bold, she slid her fingers across until his shaft was in her palm, then closed her hand around it. Ian hissed a breath and she snatched her hand back at once. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized hurriedly. 

He had his hands on her shoulders to reassure her. “No, sweetheart, nothing’s wrong.”

“But I hurt your… your…”

“My cock, if you’ll forgive me for using the vulgar term. And no, you didn’t hurt me.” Ian took her hand and placed it back on himself, wrapping his own hand around hers. “I reacted because it felt so good. _Feels_ so good.” He slid her hand up and down, teaching her, and she followed his motions. He lay his head back and sighed. Her eyes flew up to his. 

“Are you alright?” 

“No one has touched me like this in… well, it’s been a long time.”

Her hand slid up and down his cock, keeping the slow rhythm he’d set, even when he let go of her. She watched as it disappeared into her hand, then emerged again, over and over, entranced by its unusual, unexpected beauty. A small jewel of liquid appeared at the tip and she caught it with her thumb, spreading it downwards. He hissed again, and when she looked up to ask if she were doing it right, he caught her head between his hands and kissed her hungrily. 

She opened for him at once, kissing him with all the passion she felt for him, her hand still pumping his cock. She felt him gathering her chemise, raising it, and whimpered a little at the idea of his skin pressed against hers. When he was ready, she let go and stepped back, raising her arms to facilitate Ian lifting the garment from her body. Once it was gone, she expected him to pull her back into his arms, but when she looked at him, he was just staring at her, his eyes wide and hungry. She looked down at herself, belatedly realizing she was nude, and flushed, trying to cover herself. 

“Don’t,” Ian said in a strangled voice, reaching out to stop her. “Let me see.”

She hesitantly lowered her arms to her sides, still feeling flushed. Ian’s eyes devoured her, his gaze raking from her toes all the way up until his eyes met hers. 

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he breathed. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

It sprang to Rose’s lips - again - to tell him she loved him, but she bit her lip to keep it from escaping. She wasn’t sure _what_ to say, so she kept mum. 

Suddenly, Ian reached forward and hauled her to him, his body pressing against hers. His hands were wild, roaming all over her as he kissed her deeply. When she thought she’d die without air, he broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away, instead trailing his lips across her cheek and down her neck while he kneaded the flesh of her bum. 

The very next thing she knew, he was lying her down on the bed, his lips sliding against hers. She had no idea how she’d gotten there, but it didn’t matter. He hovered over top of her as she settled back into the mattress, then propped himself up beside her. She reached for him, and he leaned over her. His hand was at her waist, sliding lower to catch her knee and pull her leg onto him, then gliding higher until it met her breast. She arched into his touch when he squeezed, gasping from the sensation. He took the opportunity to dip his head and capture the nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking it, teasing with his teeth. Rose purred under the attention, reveling in the way his mouth felt, then he switched breasts and took her neglected nipple into his warm mouth. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin when he’d driven her half mad with lust a few minutes later. 

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to touch you.”

“You are touching me.”

He cupped her sex with his hand. “I’d like to touch you here.”

“Oh!” she gasped, but before she could think too much, he was kissing her again. His lips and tongue commanded her attention, and she pulled him down on top of her as best she could while he gently massaged her between her legs. The tender motions sent a warmth spreading through her, radiating out from where he touched her, and she felt herself relaxing into his touch. When she was nearly mindless, he broke the kiss. “May I?”

She’d forgotten what he’d asked, but would have denied him nothing. She nodded up at him. “Yes. Anything. Please.”

He kissed her again, then pulled back to say, “This is going to feel strange at first, sweetheart. But it will also feel good. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” she told him, meaning it with her whole heart. His mouth captured hers again, and she felt his hand massaging her between her legs a little harder. It felt wonderful and she wondered if that was what he had meant when all of the sudden, she felt his finger slip between the folds of her sex. She gasped from the strange sensation of his finger invading where she’d never been touched, but he continued to kiss her, effectively distracting her again. She spread her legs a little for him and he took the opportunity to add another finger. He was right: it felt odd, but very pleasurable. 

“Christ, Rose, you’re so wet,” he said, nipping at the skin of her neck. 

“Is that alright?”

“It’s bloody brilliant,” he praised her, his fingers still exploring. She gasped when he brushed against something that gave a quick, intense burst of sensation. 

“You like that?” he asked against her collarbone. 

“Yeah,” she panted. 

“Good,” he said, then set about rubbing that spot in a little circle. It felt amazing, absolutely wonderful, and she whimpered, biting her lip, fighting the instinct to call out to him. 

“Don’t do that,” he admonished her, his finger still spiraling. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.”

She honestly couldn’t articulate what he was making her feel, all she knew was that she never wanted him to stop. It felt as if she were climbing somehow, getting closer to something, something almost unbearably intense, but she didn’t know what.

His hand shifted and he stopped for a moment. Rose cried out a little in protest, but he silenced her when he claimed her mouth and slid a finger inside her channel. Again, she gasped, then hummed happily when he began to pump it in and out. 

“Does that feel good?” he asked, nibbling her ear. She nodded, speechless. 

His thumb took up the job his finger had abandoned, stroking and flicking her spot while he pumped her steadily. Again, she had that feeling of climbing, almost as if something were growing inside of her. Her hips began to roll of their own volition, meeting his hand, and she vocalized her pleasure. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“Please,” was all she was able to say. “Please.”

He pulled his finger all the way out of her, but before she could protest, he was sliding it back in along with a second. She groaned from the full feeling, arching her back in pleasure, and he caught her breast in his mouth. Faster and faster he pumped her, his thumb stroking her and his tongue lashing her nipple. Rose called out his name and begged him for something unknown. That climbing, growing sensation was getting stronger, more intense, and she was sure she’d die if he stopped. 

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Let go and fly.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but it didn’t matter. She was very, very close to the edge of... something. “Ian,” she whined. “Ian, please…”

He curled his fingers inside her and she exploded. Every muscle in her body clenched and she screamed in pleasure, bucking and shaking, absolutely mindless with ecstacy. She called Ian’s name over and over again, pleading, but he was right there, still stroking her. It was rapture like she’d never known, and she soared.


	22. Chapter 22

Slowly, so slowly, Rose drifted back down to earth from the high Ian had given her. He had removed his fingers and his hand was lying innocuous on her belly, as if it hadn’t just sent her to heaven. He pressed ardent, worshipful kisses to her chest, and each one made her shiver with pleasure. She just lay there and panted for breath, trying to gather what was left of her wits. 

Finally, Ian kissed his way up her chest and neck, planting a soft kiss on her open mouth. Rose stared at him, astounded at what had just happened. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, smirking a little.

“What was that?”

“An orgasm,” he answered, his hand stroking a circle on her belly. “It’s the objective of what we’ve been doing. Ideally, you’ll come every time we make love, at least once. I intend to see to it.”

“Come?”

“Another way to say ‘having an orgasm’. Did you like it?”

Like it? It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experienced and she wanted to do it again and again for the rest of her life - starting in a few minutes. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she asked a question of her own. 

“Did you... come?”

“No, sweetheart. Not yet. I’ll come when we make love.”

“You mean there’s more?”

Ian chuckled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Yes, there’s more. But we can get to that later. For now, I just want to look at you.”

Rose didn’t see what was so appealing about her that he would want to look at her, but she was too blissed out to argue. She smiled up at him, bringing her free hand up to touch the side of his face, tracing the shell of his ear. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He grinned. “You never have to thank me for that, sweetheart. It’s my pleasure to bring you pleasure. I assure you, I’m going to want to do it quite often.”

She felt a thrill at that. God, she hoped so. 

He reached up to trace her cheekbone with his fingertips, still propped over her almost lazily, his head resting in his hand. “So beautiful,” he whispered. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” she said with a smile. “If we hadn’t run into you at that carriage inn that day… I owe a great debt to Clara for mistaking you as an employee.”

Something shuttered in his eyes at the mention of Clara’s name, but it was gone in an instant and he was back to looking at her adoringly. Again, she thought of telling him just how deeply, how madly she loved him, but she thought better of it. Just because he was making love to her didn’t mean he was _in_ love with her, and she may be committing a faux pas by telling him how she felt. Wanting to do everything correctly and not ruin this good thing she’d somehow found, she kept her thoughts to herself. Maybe someday.

Ian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

“You,” she answered honestly, smiling up at him. 

“Oh?” he teased. “What about me?”

“Only that you’re wonderful.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you think so. But I think you’re the wonderful one.” He sighed and shook his head. “All that time, lost. We could have been together like this weeks ago.”

“Why weren’t we?”

Ian kissed her lightly. “I’ll tell you in the morning, sweetheart. I promise. I’m concerned that if I tell you now, you’ll send me away for how foolish I’ve been and never let me touch you again.” 

“I don’t think you ever have to worry about that, Ian. Ever.”

He grinned. “Noted. But can we still discuss it tomorrow?” His hand dipped lower to cover her mound again and he started kissing her neck. “There’s something else I’d rather be doing right now,” he murmured against her skin.

She bit her lip on a smile. “What’s that?”

“Making love to my wife,” he answered matter-of-factly, his mouth drifting lower. “I’m about to perish from desire.”

“Is that even possible?” 

“I’m not anxious to find out,” he said solemnly. Rose let the giggle she’d been holding back go, but it died quickly when he captured her nipple in his mouth. She gave a coo of pleasure and threaded her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp a little, making him groan and suckle harder. She bit her lip, then gasped when he dipped his finger inside her again. He didn’t wait long before he’d slid his second finger inside as well and was pumping her languidly. 

His mouth released her breast and he started kissing his way up her neck again. Rose, feeling bold, reached to find his cock, wrapping her hand around it and gently pumping. He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, groaning, but Rose didn’t release him. She kept up her stroking, enjoying the way his breath grew ragged the more she pumped him. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, breathing heavily while she kept up her ministrations with gentle pressure. 

“Yes?”

Ian looked up at her, and his eyes were near desperate. “I need to make love to you, Rose. I can’t wait another minute. Please let me make love to you.”

“I want you to,” she told him as simply as she knew how. “Please, Ian. Please make love to me.”

He kissed her then, absolutely devouring her mouth, his tongue swiping deeper than it ever had before. He kept his fingers sliding in and out of her, faster now, and the combination of the two sensations were serving to drive her nearly spare. She kept pumping his cock, hoping to make him feel as good as he was making her feel. Just when she thought she’d expire in a combustion of erotic delight, he broke the kiss, both of them panting for air. 

Slowly, he pulled his fingers out and shifted his body, withdrawing his cock from her grasp. He came to hover overtop her, careful to keep his body close, his eyes locked onto hers. Rose spread her legs to make room for him, and he settled his hips in. She was thrilled to feel his cock nudging against her mound. 

“Do you understand what’s about to happen?” he asked slowly. 

She nodded, her eyes wide. “I - I think so.”

“I’m going to put my cock in you and do with it the same thing I’ve been doing with my fingers.”

Rose voiced a concern she’d had since she first saw the bulge in his trousers. “Is it going to fit?”

Ian’s eyes flickered and one corner of his mouth twitched. “It’ll be snug, but it’ll fit. I promise.”

She didn’t say anything to that, she just nodded. He pressed a light kiss to her lips and continued. 

“It’s likely to hurt when I first put it in, but remember, the pain only lasts a moment, and then it’s gone. It’ll be quick: I’m going to do everything in my power to minimize your discomfort. I want this to be good for you, Rose, so good. Do you trust me?”

She nodded again. “I trust you.”

“If what I’m doing doesn’t feel good at any time after that initial pain, I want you to stop me. Don’t hesitate to do so. But it’s not going to hurt, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll make this good for you.”

“I trust you, Ian,” she repeated. 

Ian shifted his weight again so he was more solidly between her legs. She felt his cock nudging her gently, and her heart pounded with excitement and nerves. He kissed her slowly, although she could feel him trembling - just as she was. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, hoping she was telling the truth. 

He slid one hand between their bodies to line himself up, and Rose felt a blunt pressure at her entrance. His hand returned to prop him up, and he started laying kisses on her shoulder. The pressure grew and she did her best to keep a straight face. It didn’t hurt, not quite, but she knew that --

With a sudden motion, Ian plunged his hips forward and filled her completely. The pain was sharp, hot, and Rose cried out involuntarily, throwing her head backwards. Tears pricked her eyes and she closed them tight, not wanting Ian to see her cry. 

He was peppering her face with kisses, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I had to, but I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

Rose nodded, her eyes still shut tight. “Just… don’t move,” she ground out, concentrating on willing the pain away. 

Ian kissed her once more, but otherwise did as asked, holding perfectly still. The pain was fading, becoming less intense, and she moved experimentally. It returned, but not as bad and faded quickly. Soon, she was left with just a feeling of intense fullness - and that familiar sensation of wanting more. 

“I’m alright,” she said at last, opening her eyes to look up at him. His eyes were intense, stormy, and Rose could feel the tension radiating off of him. To soothe him, she smiled. 

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Are you hurting?”

“Not anymore. It feels… very full, and like I’m waiting for something. Am I going to come again?”

“God, I hope so,” he said, then kissed her deeply. Rose let her hands roam the skin of his back, caressing him, relishing the way his muscles rippled with every movement. 

She felt him withdrawing until she was afraid he’d pull all the way out, then he slid back in slowly. He never stopped kissing her, even when he slid in and out several more times, gaining a little speed with each thrust. She clenched around him in pleasure, earning a moan from him, and he broke the kiss, dropping his head to her shoulder and groaning.

“God, sweetheart, you’re so tight…”

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered. 

Ian was pressing fervent little kisses to her neck, breathing heavily. “Never,” he promised. “I’ll never stop, Rose. Always…”

She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but let herself pretend he was professing his love. It made what they were doing even sweeter. Because he’d seemed to like it, she clenched around him again and he moaned into her neck. She would have smirked, but couldn’t. His pumping was getting faster, more intense, and she was clinging to his back.

Ian broke from sucking at a spot on her throat to pant, “Put your legs around me and lock your ankles. Hold on and don’t let go.”

Rose obeyed, feeling him go deeper when she spread her legs wider to wrap around him. With every thrust, he was hitting the spot that brought her the most intense pleasure, and she could feel herself climbing higher and higher towards orgasm. She only hoped Ian was climbing, too. 

“Ian, please,” she pleaded, feeling utterly wanton. “More, please… I beg you…”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, going harder and faster. “God, yes…”

She was getting closer, the pleasure becoming more intense, and she clutched him tight, her fingernails digging into the skin of his back, mindlessly calling out to Ian and to God. He raised his head to look at her and she thought he was going to kiss her, but he only watched her as he kept pounding into her. Their eyes were locked onto each other’s, their breaths mingled in the space between them, and she’d never felt more in sync with another human being. It was like they had become one, and she loved him more in that moment than she ever thought possible. 

Rose’s whole body moved with each of his thrusts, and she made a little whining, groaning sound with every impact. She could feel an explosion coming, bigger than before. 

“I’m close,” she panted between thrusts. “So close. Please, please don’t stop. Please…”

Something about her words seemed to spur him on, and he was driving into her, hitting her spot relentlessly. “Yes, sweetheart. Fucking _yes_. Come for me, come only for me. Fucking… _fuck_.”

Rose should have been shocked at the foul language, but the rough words only served to drive her higher, and she wished he’d say them more. 

He shifted his hips a bit, changing the angle, and oh, God, he was rubbing her spot even more intensely now. She was going to come very, very soon. 

“Come for me,” he begged her, grunting with exertion. “Please, Rose. Fucking _please_ come for me. I can’t…”

She detonated, feeling as if every cell in her body were exploding at once. Her back arched and she screamed inarticulately, no idea what she was saying, or even if it were in a language humans could understand. She clawed his back, her legs squeezing around him to pull him deeper, her channel clenched around his cock. He was relentless in his taking of her, pushing her beyond the brink of endurance. She thought surely she would die from the pleasure - no human was meant to withstand this level of ecstasy - but to her surprise, she remained very much alive. 

Ian shouted, his face screwed up in a grimace, then roared, his head thrown back. He buried his face in her neck, still thrusting erratically and shallowly, every move grinding against her most sensitive spot. She cried out to him, sobbing with pleasure. 

His thrusts gradually tapered off until he was lying on top of her, boneless, panting for air. She still had her arms and legs around him, shuddering with aftershocks. They were perfectly still except for occasional, involuntary tremors, both catching their breath and coming down from the high. Rose did her best to gather her thoughts, but all she could think of was the man on top of and inside her. She was happier in that moment than she could ever remember being, yet she didn’t have the energy to smile just yet. 

She felt Ian pressing slow little kisses to her neck and _that_ got a smile from her. She hugged him tighter, closing her eyes and sighing happily. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked from the vicinity of her shoulder. 

“Hmm?”

“Did you mean it?”

“I’m sorry?”

Ian raised his head to look at her, his eyes more blue than she’d ever seen them before. “When you told me you loved me. Did you mean it?”

Rose blanched. “I… I said what?”

“When you came, you shouted that you loved me. Was that just something you said, or did you mean it?”

She was mortified, her eyes going wide and sudden tears of embarrassment pricking them. How could she have lost control like that? He’d likely run away now, and it was all her fault. The tears gathered while she tried to think of what to say and his image above her swam. 

He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and sweet, his tongue teasing her a little. She kissed him back, hoping he’d forget what he’d asked. It was not to be. 

“Do you, sweetheart?” he pressed. “Could you ever possibly love a wretch like me?”

Two fat tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and ran back into her hair. “How could I not love you?” she whispered brokenly, praying she hadn’t just ruined everything. Another tear fell and she said, “Please don’t send me away.”

To her surprise, Ian laughed and his eyes twinkled. He kissed her exuberantly. “Oh, you silly, precious girl. I could never send you away. I’m far too in love with you to be away from you for any length of time. I’d go mad.”

She gaped up at him. “You’re in love with me?”

“Absolutely, madly in love with you, Rose. I’ve never felt anything like it - and I never want to feel anything else as long as I live.”

She broke into a brilliant smile and pulled him down to kiss her again, which he did eagerly. Ian slowly removed himself from her and lay down beside her, turning her to face him. They wrapped each other in their arms and kissed even more, their hands roaming aimlessly, breaking apart every so often to confess their love again and again. Ian pulled the covers up over them when she shivered, then held her close to his body. She fell asleep listening to his heartbeat and thanking God for sending her Ian.


	23. Chapter 23

2 November, 1823

Ian woke slowly, feeling completely at peace. It was an unusual enough occurrence that he wondered about it idly. Then he heard a dainty snore beside him. 

His eyes flew open to find Rose lying on the pillow opposite him, her bare back to him, her long hair wild around her head. He gaped at her for a moment, utterly in awe to find himself naked in bed next to his wife. Surely he must be dreaming…

Rose snored again, a soft, delicate sound, and he burst into the biggest smile he could ever remember. The night before came flooding back to him - their kiss in the corridor, Nardole explaining how wrong he was about everything, knocking on Rose’s door, and then the most exquisite lovemaking he’d ever experienced. And as if all of that wouldn’t have equaled the greatest night of his life, Rose had told him she loved him. She loved him! This beautiful, amazing, precious girl loved _him_. The mind boggled. 

He was startled when the door opened and Clara bustled in, heading straight to the fireplace to warm the room before she woke Rose. The maid didn’t even look over at the bed, but Ian pulled the blanket up to Rose’s shoulder anyway, to cover her. Clara would notice him soon, he figured, so he thought he should probably let her know he was there. To that end, he sat up and spoke her name. 

“Clara.”

The maid jumped and spun around to face the bed, her hand over her heart. Her eyes were wild until they landed on him, then her shoulders relaxed, although she flushed at the sight of his bare chest. He considered covering himself but thought better of it. If she were going to continue to work as Rose’s maid, she was likely to see him often in various states of undress. Ian certainly intended to be naked with his wife often. 

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a little curtsey. 

“Good morning,” he answered in a low voice to avoid waking Rose. “Will you arrange for a breakfast tray to be brought up? I think Rose and I are going to stay in bed a while.”

“Of course, sir. Is she --?”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Is she what?”

Clara straightened her shoulders. “She was upset when I left her last night, Your Grace. Very distraught. Is she alright now?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “She and I had a misunderstanding - a rather large one - but it’s all cleared up now. She’s fine. I promise.”

The maid nodded, seeming to take him at his word. “Very good, sir.” She turned to leave, but Ian called her back. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“You’ve been fiercely loyal to my wife in some of her darkest times. She’s had you to count on when she’s had no one else. I just want you to know that I appreciate that, and I won’t forget it.”

“It’s been my pleasure, sir.”

“Go,” he dismissed her. “Arrange for the breakfast tray, then enjoy a quiet day. I don’t think she’ll need you until dinner. Oh, and tell Nardole that I’m indisposed for the day, as well.”

“Very good, sir.” She dropped into another little curtsey and hastened out of the room. Ian watched her go and chuckled. He didn’t question Clara’s loyalty, but he was also certain that within an hour, the entire staff would know where he’d slept last night. No matter. Honestly, in that moment, he didn’t care about anything except the woman lying beside him. Let them talk. So long as they didn’t embarrass Rose, they could say whatever they liked. 

He lay back down, propped on his side, and just stared at her for a few moments, taking her in. Her body rose and fell with her breaths, and she still snored lightly. He didn’t doubt that she’d deny that to the death, as snoring wasn’t typically considered very ladylike, but he found it absolutely charming.

He remembered all too well the dips and curves of her body, now hidden by the blanket. They were burned into his memory and he’d never, ever forget the way she’d looked nude, bathed in firelight. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be exploring her further - oh no, he would most _definitely_ be doing that as soon and as often as possible. She was entirely too sensuous for him not to touch her – all the time, if possible. He worried a little that he may have difficulties acting a gentleman towards her outside of the bedroom. 

Ian lowered the blanket enough to bare her shoulder, then leaned forward and began pressing kisses to her skin. She stirred and he smiled, drawing her hair back from her neck and kissing her there. 

Apparently that tickled, and she gave a little giggle before purring as she stretched. Ian leaned back to give her space, and when she was done, she rolled over onto her back, blinking blearily up at him, smiling brightly. “Good morning, handsome.”

He grinned and bent to kiss her lips gently. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept like a baby,” she told him, yawning. “Best sleep I’ve had in months and months. Years, maybe.”

“Me, too, with you here. How are you feeling?”

Her eyes shone up at him. “Blissful. I love you so much.”

Ian chuckled. “I love you, too, but I was actually referring to…” He let his words trail off and darted his eyes below her waist. 

“Oh. That.” She shifted a little, as if to test herself, then looked up at him. “I’m… a little tender, but not terribly so.”

“No pain?”

Rose’s eyes twinkled. “Not enough to stop me if you wanted to go again.”

He laughed outright and kissed her smile. “Good to know. I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer later. How about the rest of you?”

“The rest of me?”

“Your head and your knee. Don’t you remember a couch falling on you yesterday?”

“Honestly, I’d forgotten. They both feel fine.”

“Good.”

Rose yawned. “I must be up early. I’m never awake before Clara comes in.”

“She’s already been in. I asked her to arrange for a breakfast tray, then told her to take a light day.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth quirked. “Planning on keeping me to yourself today, handsome?”

“I absolutely do,” he confirmed, lowering his head to nip and kiss at her neck. Rose giggled, her shoulders drawing up, and she squirmed. He smiled, planted one more kiss, then withdrew. “Ticklish?”

“You have the beginnings of a beard,” she informed him. “The scruff is tickling me.”

Ian reached up and stroked his stubble lightly. “So I do. Do you think you can live with it, or shall I shave?”

She brought her hand up to cover his. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

He may never shave again, if that were the case. His eyes went soft and he smiled down at her. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too. Did you really intend on keeping me in bed all day?”

“I intend to spend the day with my wife in bed, yes. I might let you up this evening, when it’s time to dress for dinner, but I’m not sure yet.”

“I’m sure I’d enjoy dinner with my husband,” Rose teased. 

“Then we shall have dinner. And while we’re there, I’ll have Vastra, Jenny, and Clara move your things.”

The smile dropped from her face and she looked hurt. She hesitated a moment before she spoke, and her eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Where am I moving to?”

“My room,” he said simply. “That is, if you’re willing.”

She gaped at him. “You want me to move into your bedroom?”

“I want you to sleep where I sleep, sweetheart. I want to hold you in my arms every night and wake beside you every morning. I know it’s not commonly done amongst the gentry, and if you truly want your own space, you can have it. I’ll respect that. But I love you, sweetheart, and I want you with me. Please say you’ll consider it.”

Rose beamed brilliantly up at him. “There’s nothing to consider. Of course I’ll share a room with you, you daft man.”

Ian kissed her excitedly, thrilled beyond words. “Thank you,” he said between kisses. “Thank you.”

When he had finished kissing her for the moment, he lay down and gathered Rose close. She came willingly, pressing her belly against his, nestling herself in his arms. He traced little patterns on the bare skin of her back and tucked her head under his chin, sighing happily. In this moment, his life was as close to perfect as it could possibly be. He’d never even dared hope for this level of joy, and couldn’t quite grasp how it had all come to be. He was the luckiest man who had ever walked the face of the earth, and he knew it.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence after a while. “I owe your sister an apology.”

“Oh?”

“She tried to tell me that you wanted me, but I wouldn’t believe her. I was actually rather rude about it. But she was right all along, and if I’d listened to her… well, I don’t know what I would have done differently, but maybe things would have been different somehow.”

“They absolutely would have been different if _I’d_ listened to her,” he admitted quietly. “She tried to tell me I was being a fool, but I refused to hear her. I snapped at her, accused her of interfering, and told her to stay out of it.” He sighed. “She tried writing me about it after she returned to Glasgow, but I burned the letters. It was too painful to read what I saw as mistruths when she said you wanted me.”

“But I did,” Rose asserted, leaning her head back a little so she could look up at him. “I was attracted to you almost from the start, back in the carriage. I kept feeling this fluttering sensation every time you smiled at me or we would touch, and I didn’t know what it was. Clara had to explain to me what I was feeling, that I was attracted to you, but you didn’t -” She hesitated, then went on. “I hoped you’d want me one day, but had resigned myself that that day would never come.”

“I did,” he told her, stroking her back lovingly and gazing into her eyes. “I wanted you. At that ball, the first one, I was ready to tear the hands off every man who touched you. I couldn’t explain it to myself - not at the time - but I wanted you. Never doubt that, sweetheart.”

She asked the question that he’d been dreading, but had known was coming. “Then why did you want a marriage of convenience? I don’t understand.”

“I genuinely thought that was what you wanted. I wanted to please you.”

“Why would I not want a true marriage with you?” she asked with furrowed, questioning brow. 

Ian took a deep breath, closing his eyes and sending up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t kick him out of her bed and her life. “I thought you were in love with Clara.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “With _Clara_?”

“Yes. I got the impression - mistaken, I now know - that you and Clara were lovers on the journey from London.”

She gaped at him for a minute, leaving him out to sea, then burst into laughter. He was relieved that she didn’t seem angry, but a little chagrined to be laughed at for his mistake. Again.

“It’s not funny,” he muttered petulantly. 

Rose laughed a bit more, then settled into a smile. “It is funny, just a little. How could you have possibly thought I was in love with _Clara_?”

“She’s exceptionally devoted to you,” he defended. “Not many maids would move to another country with the woman they serve. And you two are close, much closer than most women with their maids. She calls you by your first name instead of ‘ma’am’ and you seem more like friends. It reminded me quite a lot of Vastra and Jenny.”

“What do Vastra and Jenny have to do with anything?”

“They’re married, sweetheart.”

Rose looked surprised. “Are they, really?”

“Yes. They have been for several years. And your relationship with Clara reminded me a great deal of them. I just… made the mental leap that you were like them in more ways than you actually are.”

She processed this for a moment, then smiled gently and touched his face. “Can I tell you the truth now?”

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Please do.”

“Clara’s mother was my mother’s maid when I was a little girl, so I’ve known her all my life. She was my closest friend during my childhood - which had a tendency to be lonely. You see, the daughters of other businessmen called me a nabob because my grandfather was an earl and either ignored me or pretended a relationship with me in the hopes of advancing their status somehow. I had no true friends among that set, and the children of peers were even worse. They looked down on me because my father was in business. Clara was a couple of years older than me and my only steady friend. My mother allowed us to play together, even though it was ‘improper’, because she recognized I needed someone my own age.”

“That’s horrible,” Ian said, feeling genuinely heartsick at Rose’s sad tale.

“I was twelve when Clara’s mother died, and Clara suddenly had nowhere to go. I begged my parents to please let her come live with us instead of being turned out onto the street, and they assured me they wouldn’t turn her away. It took them a day or so, but they decided to hire Clara on as my lady’s maid. She’s been with me ever since.”

“That was very kind of your parents.”

She smiled gently. “They were very kind people. But do you see where that devotion comes from? It’s not romantic at all, although we both feel a very deep love for one another. In fact, the only person I love _more_ than Clara is you.”

Ian returned her smile. “Is that so?”

“That’s so, handsome.”

He kissed her lightly. “Good.” 

Having apparently said her piece, Rose snuggled back down into his arms, and he held her gratefully, stroking her back. 

“Ian?” she asked after a while. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is that the _only_ reason you didn’t want a true marriage with me?”

“Yes. That’s all.”

“But that’s all behind us now, right?”

He kissed her hair. “Absolutely.”

They were silent again, and Ian was just starting to nod off when she spoke again, saying his name. 

“Yes?”

“When we were married, and each spoke our vows, did you mean them?”

“With my whole heart,” he told her. “But I believed you were just going through the motions.”

“I wasn’t,” she promised him. “I was genuinely pledging myself to you in love. I assumed you weren’t, though, that you were just saying what needed to be said - although I pretended to myself you meant it.”

“No need to pretend, sweetheart.” He sighed and cuddled her closer. “It’s just been one big misunderstanding between us, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” she agreed. “I hate that our marriage started with so much confusion and mistaken beliefs.”

“So let’s start over,” he suggested, surprising even himself.

“Start over?”

“Yes, I think that’s a splendid idea.” He leaned back so he could see her face. “We’ll recite our vows again to each other, except this time, there will be no misinterpretation of what we’re doing. I love you, you love me, and we’re committing ourselves to one another forever. What do you think?”

She still looked a little confused, but the corner of her mouth was turning up. “Here? Now? Naked in our bed?”

“Right here and right now,” he confirmed. “Sit up.” She did as asked, covering her breasts modestly, and Ian was glad for it in that moment. Best he didn’t get distracted from his romantic idea. They turned towards each other, smiling, and Ian took her hands into his. 

“I Ian take thee Rose to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Rose’s eyes glistened with tears, but she smiled bright as the sun as she made her own vows. “I Rose take thee Ian to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

When she was done, he took her left hand and touched her ring significantly. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

“Amen,” she agreed, and he leaned forward to catch her smile with his mouth. It wasn’t long before the kiss grew more heated and the sheet fell away, baring her to him while his hands started to roam amorously. He lay her back down, ever so gently, and covered her with his body. 

“I love you, wife.”

She smiled radiantly up at him. “I love you, too, husband.”

When Clara brought the breakfast tray up a little while later, she had the foresight to press her ear to the door before she opened it. Hearing the occupants of the room otherwise engaged, she chuckled to herself and placed the tray on a nearby table to wait. She doubted very seriously that either Rose or her husband would be all that upset if their breakfast was a little cold this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vows seem like they need more commas and a couple of “or”s to me, but they were copied and pasted from the Common Book of Prayer, so I have to assume they’re right and my own opinion is wrong.


	24. Chapter 24

14 November, 1823

Ian hadn’t been joking about moving Rose into his room. While they were enjoying dinner in the private dining room, the staff made quick work of moving her things into the Duke’s chambers. When Ian and Rose retired that night, Ian had carried her over the threshold into their shared bedroom, dismissing Clara for the night, and then made love to Rose all night long. 

The Duke and Duchess of Gallifrey rarely emerged from their suite of rooms for the next several days, preferring each other’s exclusive company to their responsibilities. It was a glorious, joy-filled honeymoon period filled with laughter, quiet moments, and soft touches. They explored and learned more about one another, and everything they learned made them love each other even more. Ian told stories of his travels, fascinating Rose with the vastness of his experiences. When she expressed awe for him, he just smiled, placed a soft kiss to her lips, and promised to take her traveling one day. They’d have to return home frequently, he said, to tend to the estate, but he saw no reason why they couldn’t sneak away for a few weeks once or twice a year. Rose seemed giddy with the possibility of seeing some of the places she’d only read about before, and Ian beamed like Father Christmas, charging her with deciding where she’d like to go first. 

Once they emerged from their little cocoon of togetherness, they settled into their daily routines again, albeit now in an endlessly happy and blissful state. They were constantly touching - during meals, in the corridor, in plain sight and covertly, handing each other things that were easily within grasp just for the joy of brushing hands, grinning like fools. Each of them had their own duties, of course, but they did their best to steal moments together throughout the day when they could. If Ian were working in the medical office, Rose would frequently pack a hamper with lunch for the two of them and ride Idris into town to see him with Clara as an escort. He was always delighted to see her, and the two enjoyed a few private moments together before Rose would return to the manor to wait for him to come home at the end of the day. He never dallied in town when he knew his sweetheart was waiting for him, and Rose was always there to greet him with open arms. 

Around the house, the staff had learned quickly to knock on any doors behind which the Duke and Duchess were together - no matter the time of day. Ian had been delighted to discover that Rose very much enjoyed making love, and they did so with great frequency. Being newlyweds and madly in love with each other, the urge for physical intimacy would often strike them at unusual or inopportune times. That never slowed them down, however. Often, they would disappear from the scene mysteriously only to reappear some time later in varying stages of dishevelment, the Duke smirking and the Duchess blushing, making their staff smile behind quickly raised hands. The Lord and Lady of the house being so euphorically happy made the entire staff more comfortable and happy, and morale was high. 

Evenings would most often find them in the library together, just as they had been nearly every night since they had married in September, but their changed intimacy followed them even into this time. Before, they’d occupied separate chairs and kept a respectable distance from one another. Now that they were open about their love, however, they frequently both occupied the large settee, Rose sitting at one end and reading aloud while Ian lay with his head in her lap, staring lovingly up at her. Other times, he’d read aloud from his place in her lap, and she’d play with his hair. Sometimes they’d each read quietly to themselves, just content to be together. 

Ian had been hesitant to discuss the everyday running of the estate with Rose before, despite his telling her when he proposed that he would be coming to her for input. Before the night their relationship changed, he had assumed that she had enough to be dealing with, getting used to her new home and overseeing the remodeling and redecorating. Finding out that she’d been studying estate management while he wasn’t around had touched him deeply. Once they resumed their daily activities after hiding from the world for the better part of a week, he started doing what he had told her he was planning to do from the beginning - asking her for input and advice. He had known she was clever, but he hadn’t expected her to be as brilliant as she was. Her upbringing and training to run a business gave her insight he didn’t himself possess, and she saw situations through a different lens. Even Ianto was impressed with her, frequently taking the suggestions Ian brought that Rose had made. He was proud of her, loved her completely, and made sure to show her every moment he could. 

Weeks passed like this, blissful and happy. Rose seemed completely content with her life at Gallifrey and Ian was certainly happier than he’d ever expected to be as Duke. Rose made a joy of everything, and every day he thanked the God he’d largely ignored for most of his life for his wife. 

Midway through November, late in the day, Ian had been called to settle a dispute just outside Lethe, the furthest village from the estate, and hadn’t gotten home in time for dinner. His sweetheart had asked the kitchen staff to keep dinner warm for him until he could get there and join her, but by the time they finished eating, it was nearly time to retire. They had adjourned to their bedroom early, forgoing the library, and were now crawling into bed and around each other, settling in for the night. 

“I missed you,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and sighing. Now that they were alone and his love was in his arms, he could finally relax, and it felt good. 

“I missed you, too,” she said, burrowing deeper into his arms. “Did you get everything settled?”

“Yes, but I’m concerned there may yet be bad blood.”

“What happened?”

“Two of the tenants had adjoining farms. Having grown up together, they were friends, and remained friends even as adults. They each married, and one had a son, then three years later, the other had a daughter. They decided they wanted their children to marry, which I suppose is fine, but they drew up a contract between them, deciding these young people’s futures before they were even old enough to have a say in it. The contract stated that when the lass turned eighteen, she’d marry the son. Well, the young woman is turning eighteen in two weeks, but has decided she doesn’t want to marry the boy.”

“Oh, no.”

“The fathers are insisting she go through with it, the boy’s father most of all. The girl’s father says he doesn’t want to force her to take a husband not to her liking, but he would do so to honor the contract. The young girl still refused. The matter was brought to me.”

“What did you do? Tell me you didn’t make the poor girl marry a man she didn’t want…”

“I listened to both fathers, heard what they had to say. Then I asked to speak with the girl. She threw herself on her knees and pleaded with me not to make her marry the son. Told me if I did so, I’d be sentencing her to a life of misery.”

“Is the boy a brute?”

“No. By all accounts, he’s a good young man. She just loves another.”

“Oh, the poor lamb.”

“She reminded me of you, actually, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. What if Lord Stone and your father had had an actual agreement between them? What if you hadn’t been allowed your choice? I may never have met you, had that been the case. How could I subject this poor girl to a fate I wouldn’t want for you?”

Rose snuggled closer into his arms. “What did you do?”

“I had already decided to disregard the contract, but before I did, I spoke with the boy. Turns out, he didn’t want to marry her, either.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. He’s in love with a dairymaid and wants to wed her, instead. He was just unwilling to buck his father. So I called the fathers in and explained my decision. Neither of them were happy - the boy’s father especially not - but the contract wasn’t legally binding anyway. I lectured them both about allowing their children to choose their own spouse, then let them go. Hopefully, that’ll be the end of it.”

“I certainly hope so. And I hope the two children involved get to marry their choice of spouse, like we did.”

He smiled. “Like we did,” he echoed, then kissed the top of her hair again. “I couldn’t sentence that poor girl to a miserable marriage, not when I thought about you. And then I put myself in the boy’s shoes: what if I were forced to marry someone else, loving you as I do? I just couldn’t do it, sweetheart.”

Rose was quiet for a moment. “My father was in favor of the match with Lord Stone. He was very pleased with the idea, and tried to sell me and my mother on it. Mum wasn’t exactly _opposed_ to it, but she’d made my father raise me as a lady so I could have my choice and Lord Stone wasn’t really my choice. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea - something about Lord Stone didn’t sit well with me, even then - but I was willing to go along to please my father. I like to think that had I been opposed, my father would have supported me. I don’t know for sure, but I think he would have.”

Ian squeezed her a little. “I know it was hard on you, sweetheart, but even if I could, I wouldn’t change anything that happened. If even one thing had been different, you might not have been in that carriage inn that day, looking for passage to Scotland. Maybe that’s selfish of me - I’m sure it probably is - but I can’t be sorry for the things that led you to me. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” she assured him. “As much as I hated them when I was going through them, and as much as I miss my mum and dad, I can’t be sorry about the way things turned out, either. I’m deliriously happy, but if my parents had lived, I may have been married to Lord Stone and miserable.”

Ian shuddered to think of his precious girl married to anyone other than him. He gathered her close, protectively. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Rose seemed to sense his upsetting thought and rubbed her hand on his bare chest comfortingly. “I love you, too, handsome.”

He dipped his head to kiss her softly. “Good.”

They lay in silence for a while, fingertips gently tracing and minds wandering. Ian just basked in the moment, wondering how he’d ever lived for forty years without the love of this woman. She was perfection in human form, the love of his life, and he couldn’t imagine being happier. 

“My courses came today,” she said in a quiet voice, so low he could hardly hear her. He turned to look at her, but she had her face turned downward and was flushing.

“Are you in pain?” he asked at once, concerned. 

“No, no. I mean, it’s not comfortable, but nothing out of the ordinary. That’s just a woman’s burden. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I could rub your back, if you think that would help. Or some women find relief from a warm compress applied to the abdomen. I could ring for Clara…”

Rose smiled. “I’m alright, Ian. Really. That’s not why I told you. I wanted to…” She swallowed and he rubbed her shoulder. 

“You wanted to what, sweetheart?”

“I wanted to reassure you that I wasn’t increasing.”

Something about her tone, guarded and almost sad, tipped him off. He was quiet for a moment, then asked gently, “Are you sorry you’re not increasing?”

“No, because I know that’s not what you want.”

He was taken aback. “You think it’s not what _I_ want?”

Rose nodded, still not looking at him. “You made it clear you didn’t want an heir when we married.”

He almost chuckled, but didn’t. He just hooked a finger under her chin to tilt her face more towards him. “Sweetheart, everything was different when we married. I thought having a true marriage and family with you was a fool’s dream. I never meant that I don’t want children.”

Hope sparked in her eyes. “So you _do_ want children?”

He searched his feelings for a few moments. He’d never harbored any ambition to be a father, just as he’d never harbored the ambition to be a husband. Rose’s appearance in his life had changed everything. But had his ambitions shifted quite that far? The answer was very simple and took almost no effort. 

He smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I would welcome any child you gave me with all the love in my heart, Rose. Prior to meeting you, I had no desire to be a husband or father. But now… well, having you in my life has changed everything.”

Rose’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really. Now, I can’t say that I’m eager for you to become pregnant just yet. I’m a selfish man, sweetheart, and I’m very much enjoying our time together, just you and I. But finding out you were with child… I would be overjoyed.”

“Even if I gave you a girl?”

Ian chuckled. “No matter what you gave me. A child with you, born from love? I’d welcome ten of them.”

“Ten!” Rose cried, her eyes wide. 

“Would you want to try for twenty?” he teased. Rose giggled and he nuzzled her. “However many children we’re blessed with, I’ll cherish and love. We’ll have however many we’re meant to have. I certainly have no intention of stopping the action that creates babies.”

Ian nipped at her neck and she gasped, then purred. His hand came up to caress her breast, and she arched into his hand, even as she protested. “Ian, we can’t.”

“Why not?” He nibbled her ear, tweaking her nipple a little.

“Because I’m… because of… _Ian_...”

He sighed and dropped his forehead to her shoulder, defeated. He was a doctor, for heaven’s sake, a little blood was no deterrent for him. But if she were shy about it…

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll leave you alone. You’ll still let me hold you though, right?” 

Rose smiled up at him. “Of course.”

“Good.” He gave her a chaste kiss, then settled back down against the pillows, thinking privately that when her courses ended, he was going to keep her in bed for two days to make up for lost time. 

“The renovations are nearly done,” she volunteered. “There are only a few rooms left to do.”

“Excellent. You’ve done a remarkable job, sweetheart. I’m terribly proud of you.”

Rose murmured thanks into his chest. They were quiet a while, back to chasing their own thoughts, then it was his turn to break the silence. 

“Are you happy here, sweetheart?”

She raised up to look at him, her brows knit in confusion. “Where on earth did _that_ come from?”

“It’s a legitimate question. Are you happy?”

“I’m rapturously happy here with you, Ian. Of course I am.”

“You don’t miss Glasgow? Or London?”

Rose shrugged delicately. “I don’t miss London so much, really. I never had many friends there to speak of.”

“But you did in Glasgow.”

“Yes, I’d made some friends in Glasgow.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Of course I do. I miss Donna and Osgood most, though. We grew quite close, and I’d love to see them.”

Ian thought about that for a moment, wheels spinning and ideas forming, then he said, “Why don’t we go to Glasgow and spend the holidays there?”

She gave him a look. “But you’re Scottish.”

“I was the last time I checked.”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Ah, but _my wife_ does. I think I can celebrate your holiday if you can celebrate mine.”

“And what holiday is that?”

“Hogmanay. Scottish New Year.”

Rose smiled at him. “I can do that. You’ll have to teach me about it, though.”

“It will be my honor.”

“And you really want to go to Glasgow for the holidays?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We haven’t seen our families since we married, it would be nice to visit. And I’m sure you’d enjoy catching up with your friends, as well.”

“I’m not unhappy here, Ian. Yes, I miss my friends and family, but my life isn’t in Glasgow, it’s here with you. I’m where I want to be.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you need more for companionship than just Clara and myself. So let’s do that. Let’s take a couple of weeks and spend the holidays with our family. We can come back home after Hogmanay.”

Rose squealed and threw her arms around him, kissing him exuberantly. He couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. All he ever wanted was to make her happy and if a trip to Glasgow got this kind of response, well, he’d make the trip every other day.


	25. Chapter 25

23 December, 1823

They hadn’t been on the road long - just an hour of a six-hour journey - but Ian was already anxious to be in Glasgow. With Nardole’s help, he’d been working on Rose’s surprise Christmas present for weeks, and couldn’t wait to see how she reacted. He couldn’t imagine she’d be disappointed or upset with what he’d done, not realistically, but there was always that nagging little chance that she might react differently than he expected. He hoped she didn’t.

For now, though, he was seated in the ducal coach with his wife, her hand in his as they trundled south towards Glasgow and the holidays with their families. Although he was hesitant to admit it, he was very much looking forward to seeing everyone, particularly his sister and Fergus. They each tended to liven up any situation and he knew that Donna truly loved Hogmanay. She had professed even greater excitement about this year, since Ian would be home to celebrate with her. In truth, it was the first time Ian had been home for the holidays in nearly a decade, and he had to admit, he was glad to be home. 

He squeezed Rose’s hand absently and she turned from her perusal of the scenery to smile at him. Her smile hit him the same way it always did, making his pulse spike, and he smiled back. 

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

She turned her face up to his and he kissed her lightly, then kissed her again just for the pleasure of it. When they broke apart, she was smiling up at him, her eyes full of love, and he thought he may combust from pure joy. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she started with twinkling eyes. “I’ve gotten so used to being able to sneak away with you for a private rendezvous whenever I want to when you’re not working. Now you won’t be working for two weeks, but we won’t be home where it’s easy to slip away. I may go mad, waiting for bedtime each night.”

Ian smirked. “There are plenty of nooks, crannies, and unused rooms at Donna’s house. I’m sure we can slip away from time to time.”

“But what if one of the servants came looking for us and found us _en flagrante_?” she asked in a teasingly scandalized tone. “Or worse, what if Lee or Donna did? I’d never recover.” 

“Never?”

“Never ever,” she said in a mock-serious tone. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep your hands to yourself for the next two weeks, Your Grace.”

He raised a brow at her. “Keep my hands to myself, you say?”

Rose nodded primly, her eyes still twinkling. “That’s right.”

“For two whole weeks?”

Her voice was haughty, matter-of-fact, and nothing like _her_. It amused him to no end. “Yes. I expect you to conduct yourself like a proper gentleman.”

He grinned at her teasing, then leaned forward to press kisses to her neck. She tilted her head to the side, offering herself up willingly. “Is that so?” he asked between little nips to her skin. 

“Yes. What you’re doing right now will be strictly off-limits.”

“What about this?” he asked, bringing one hand up to palm her breast through the fabric of her day dress. 

“Simply not allowed,” she told him, although he was pleased to hear that her voice had gone slightly breathy.

“Really?” he said incredulously, then ran his tongue along the tendon in her neck up to her ear, earning a sigh from her. He took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled, then sucked. “Well,” he murmured when he released her, “I suppose it’s fortuitous that Clara and Nardole are in the other coach, isn’t it? We have this one all to ourselves for the next several hours.”

“Ian,” she sighed, and he couldn’t tell if it was a token protest or a surrender. Either way, he was fairly sure he’d won.

He trailed kisses back down her neck, knowing how sensitive she was there. “Yes?”

Her breath had quickened, and her breast heaved in his hand. Her body was clearly saying ‘yes’, but her mouth said, “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re in a coach.”

“That just adds a bit of excitement, don’t you think?”

Her breath caught when he slipped his hand down the front of her dress and grasped her breast, then she purred when he massaged it with the firm pressure she liked. 

“Is it - ooh - is it even possible to make love in a coach?”

“Very possible,” he whispered, laying kisses on her collarbone, then running his tongue along it. “Let me show you.”

“All - alright,” she stammered, and he raised his head to capture her mouth in a victorious kiss. Rose, his precious girl, kissed him back with equal vigor, and he smirked to himself over how worked up he’d gotten her. She was always responsive to his touch and his kiss, wonderfully responsive, but there seemed to be something about sneaking away for clandestine little encounters that excited her. She was always a bit wilder when they weren’t in the safe haven of their bedroom, or when time was of the essence. Ian would never have expected it of her, but he was greatly appreciative. 

While he kissed her hungrily, his hands set to work on liberating her breasts. Thank the Lord, her green day dress had a fairly low bodice and he only had to release a couple of buttons in the back to loosen it up. Within seconds, he was able to tug down the front of her dress, baring her perfect breasts. He broke the kiss to stare at them, taking in the round, pink nipples on her creamy white skin. 

“Ian,” she whined, drawing his gaze up to her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her shiny, kiss-swollen lips were parted while she breathed heavily. He’d never seen anything more lovely in his life. 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“What if someone sees us?”

Ian reached across her to release the curtains over the coach’s window, then behind himself to do so on his side of the vehicle. It was now nearly dark in the coach, but as his eyes adjusted, he could still see clearly enough. 

“Better?” he asked, his hands going to her breasts to toy with them. 

“What if they _hear_ us?”

“The only one who may hear us is the driver, and he’s paid very well to keep his mouth shut. But with the road noise, he’s more likely to hear nothing.”

Rose bit her lip as if she were deliberating, but Ian knew he’d won. 

“And you’re sure this will work?”

“Absolutely positive,” he assured her, then leaned forward to catch her mouth. She surrendered at once, and he smirked a little. 

Breaking away after a moment, he dipped his head to take one of her breasts into his mouth, earning a gasp from her. He felt her fingers run through his hair, holding him to her, and he suckled her, flicking his tongue across her nipple. She moaned above him, a sound of enjoyment, and he reached down to pull up her skirt. As soon as he got through the seeming mountain of fabric, he was greeted with the bare skin of her knee. He massaged it for just a moment, wanting to take his time, but Rose, his accommodating sweetheart, was scooting her bottom forward and spreading her legs, making her sex available to him. It was a temptation he could hardly resist. He slid his hand higher and higher, his fingers tracing the inside of her thighs, and she opened wider, her breathing ragged. His teeth teased her nipple while his fingers teased her slit, stroking her and gathering wetness. When he found her clit, she let out a little ‘oh’ and he set to work, massaging and teasing it. She rolled her hips beneath his hand, seeking more, and he took pity on her, sliding one finger, then a second, into her wet channel. 

Rose gave a trembling sigh and he released her nipple, claiming her mouth instead. His fingers worked her expertly, plunging in and out while his thumb circled her clit, and he could feel her climbing. 

“Ian,” she whimpered, her mouth open against his as she panted for breath. “Ian, I love you so much, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t stop until you come.” He reclaimed her mouth, thrusting his fingers even more vigorously, fucking her with his hand. She moaned into the kiss and he felt her tighten around his fingers. She was getting close, he could tell, and he ramped up his efforts. 

“Come, sweetheart,” he implored her. “Come for me.”

She broke and gave a cry, pleading with him, and he felt his fingers flood with moisture. He didn’t let up his ministrations, instead worked her even harder, hoping to prolong her pleasure. He finally stopped when she grabbed his forearm, pushing him away, her body shuddering powerfully and recoiling from his touch. “Please… stop… I can’t…”

Ian stopped her mouth with a ferocious kiss, his own need barely restrained. She was lax against him, nearly limp, but pliable and willing. Her kiss was almost lazy, but she stroked his head and shoulders, humming happily. 

He broke the kiss, stooping to take her breast back into his mouth, determined to work her up again quickly. She gasped and trembled, but didn’t push him away. His own hands flew over the fastening of his trousers, unbuttoning them and shoving them down his legs, freeing his cock. Rose’s hand went around it at once, pumping him, and he groaned around her nipple. His newly-freed hands came up to squeeze and fondle her breasts, groaning again when she squeezed his cock. 

As good as her hand felt, he didn’t want to come that way. So he released his mouth from her breast and kissed his way up her chest, across her collarbone, and along her neck. She squeezed him again, still pumping, trailing her thumb over the head of his cock, and he hissed a breath, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. 

“I need you,” he croaked.

“I’m here,” she whispered in return, then started kissing his ear and the side of his face. He caught her lips with his, cupping her face with one hand, and kissed her with everything he had. 

When he broke away, he kept her face close and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“I still don’t see how --”

“You’re going to sit on me.”

Her eyes widened. “Sit on you?”

“Yes. Do you trust me?”

Rose nodded. “You know I do.”

He kissed her again, quickly, the urgency in his blood not allowing for more. His breathing was ragged when he pulled away from her and his words were clipped. “Gather your skirt so you’re bare from the waist down.”

Rose’s face suffused with color, but she let him go and did as asked. Ian watched every creamy inch of her skin as it was exposed, his hand now stroking himself lightly while he waited. When she had the yards and yards of fabric around her waist, she gave him an expectant look. He released his cock and reached for her, guiding her into his lap.

“That’s it,” he encouraged her, his eyes on her perfect peach of a rump as it descended into his lap. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I just… sit?”

Ian was pressing kisses to the bare skin of her back, his hands kneading the globes of her bum, nearly mindless with want. “Spread your legs a little… Wider… That’s it. You’re going to ride me, sweetheart. Much like a horse.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She did as asked, and he could feel her heat against his throbbing cock. “Raise up a little,” he instructed, and she obeyed again. He grabbed his cock, gliding it along the wetness of her slit, earning a gasp when he rubbed her clit. He would have loved to play with her more, but need was driving his motions. He had to have her. Now. 

So he lined up his cock with her entrance, settling it there, then put his hands on her hips and pulled a little, guiding her downwards. His cock slid into her heat, tight around him, and he lay his head back against the seat and groaned with unadulterated pleasure. She was so tight, so hot, and so perfect. He bit his lip to keep from coming too soon. 

When he thought he had control over himself, he used his hands on her hips to guide her up, then down. She followed his silent directions, and he watched himself fucking his wife, entranced by the sight of his cock disappearing inside her then reappearing, shining with her juices. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen and he resolved to convince her to let him take her from behind again in the future. 

“Am I doing this right?” she asked, sounding uncertain.

“God, yes, sweetheart,” he told her, his hands flexing in the flesh of her hips. “Keep going, just like that. Perfect.”

She continued to ride him, gaining confidence with each stroke, and he could feel her plant her hands on his knees for support. Her bouncing sped up a little and he started kissing her back and shoulders again, murmuring filthy encouragements between each kiss. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Take your pleasure from me. Ride me harder… faster… whatever you need. Use me. Use my cock.”

“Touch me,” she whined, and he let go of her hips at once to wrap his arms around her and grasp her breasts. She cried out from his touch. “Yes, Ian. Yes!”

He fondled her breasts, tweaking her nipples and earning little sounds from her while he continued to apply his mouth to her back. He was sucking at the juncture between her neck and shoulder when she clenched herself around his cock and he bit her reflexively. 

“Oh, God!” she cried, and he would have apologized but he didn’t have the higher brain function to get the words out. Instinctively, his hips started moving in concert with her bouncing and he squeezed her breasts hard. 

“Ian, Ian please…” she begged, and he could feel the coil of tension at the base of his spine that signaled impending orgasm. He was going to come soon, but he wanted her to go over first. With that in mind, he released her breasts and sent his hands back down to her bare bum bouncing on his lap, one hand grasping her hip and the other sliding around to seek out her clit. 

He was astounded when he found her hand already there, massaging herself rapidly. Would his love never cease to amaze him? Brushing aside his surprise for the moment, he pushed her hand away and let his fingers take their place. 

“No ma’am,” he told her in a low, gravelly voice between nips and sucks to her shoulder. “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

She was near sobbing, riding him as hard and fast as she could while he fucked her from below. “Please, Ian. God, _please_...”

He sped up his motions, both with his hand and his cock, and she cried out in pleasure. 

“That’s it, Rose. That’s it. _Fuck._ Tell me, sweetheart.”

“So good…”

He sucked the spot on her shoulder then ran his tongue over it to soothe it. “How good?”

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Too good. I can’t…”

“Come, Rose,” he commanded her, pressing harder against her clit. She obeyed at once, shouting inarticulately and clenching around his cock, flooding it with moisture. His own orgasm was close, so close, and he let go of her clit, grasping her hips with both hands and fucking her wildly, chasing his release.

“Yes, Rose! Fucking… _fuck!_ So good… gonna come…”

One stroke, then another, then another, and he came in a paroxysm of pleasure, the whole world whiting out as he emptied himself inside his wife, his mouth slack against her shoulder, groaning helplessly. 

Ian came down slowly, drifting like a feather back down to earth, euphoric and rapturous. His cock still pulsed inside her and he was afraid he’d cry out if she moved, but she stayed perfectly still in his lap, coming down from her own high. When he felt capable, he started pressing kisses to her bare skin, his hands rubbing her hips and thighs to soothe her after his rough treatment of her. Rose sighed and lay backwards, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, her face turned towards his for a kiss. He was only too happy to oblige, and they kissed languidly while he softened. 

She made a little noise when he slipped out of her and he smiled against her lips. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He pressed one more little kiss to her lips, then said, “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

Rose nodded and he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. He wiped it between her legs, cleaning her, and she gave a little squeak when he brushed against her still-sensitive clit that made him grin. When he was done, she rose off of his lap and rearranged her skirts. Ian wiped himself clean with the handkerchief, tossed it in the brazier, then pulled his trousers up. 

“I feel I must apologize,” he said as he tucked himself in and began to button his trousers. 

“For what? That was amazing,” she praised, adjusting the front of her dress to cover her breasts. 

He smirked, pleased with that response. “I’m glad you liked it. But I’ve been meaning to apologize for some of my language when we make love. I sometimes forget myself and use crass words that no lady should hear. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I rather like it.”

He stopped adjusting his clothing at once and stared at her, eyes wide. “You _like_ it?”

Rose flushed becomingly, glancing away. “I - I do. I wouldn’t like to hear such rough words all the time, and certainly not from anyone else, but from you, in the privacy of our intimate moments… knowing that I make you lose yourself enough to use those words… I like it. It’s very flattering.”

Ian was still gaping at her, utterly in awe. “I’ll swear like a sailor, if that’s what you like,” he vowed. 

She tittered, then placed a hand on his cheek and leaned over to kiss him. “Like I said, the privacy of our intimate moments.”

“Absolutely, sweetheart,” he agreed. Whatever she wanted. 

She turned on the seat, offering her back to him. “Will you do up my buttons?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, his hands going to do what she’d asked at once. He was leaning forward to press an impetuous kiss to her shoulder when he froze. 

“Um, sweetheart?”

“Yes?”

“It seems I owe you another apology.”

“What for?”

He traced his fingers along the top of her shoulder, over the marks he’d left there. “I… um… In my ardor, it seems I have marred your skin. You have a couple of love bites.”

“Do I?” she asked in a casual, curious tone, nothing like what he had expected. She craned her neck as if to see what he was talking about, but gave up after a moment. “Oh, well,” she said, settling back into her seat. “They’ll fade in a few days. In the meantime, I’ll either wear high-necked dresses or send Clara for a little makeup, when my shoulders will show. It will be fine.”

“You’re not upset?”

Rose smiled. “Not one bit. If we were home, I’d wear them as a badge of honor, but since we’ll be visiting, I’ll be forced to conceal them. I’ll endure some ribbing from Clara, of course, and she’s likely to get the giggles next time she’s around you, but that will be the worst of it. In all fairness, I might catch the giggles when she does, just thinking about your face right now - and, of course, how those marks came to be. Can we do it that way again sometime?”

Ian knew he was gaping at her, but couldn’t help it. His mind was running through all of the places they could make love that way again. In his study, in the library, in the chairs by the fire in their bedroom…

“I don’t know what I ever did in my life to deserve you, Rose Docherty, but I’m deeply, _deeply_ grateful.”

She gave a little giggle. “That’s quite a compliment. But if you don’t mind, we have just a few hours left in this coach before we’re around our families for two weeks and have to be proper most of the time. Do you think you could hold me until we arrive?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart,” he said, then took her into his arms and snuggled her close.


	26. Chapter 26

They were still canoodling hours later when they arrived in Glasgow. The curtains over the windows had been pulled back, and they passively watched the passing scenery together from the comfort of each other’s arms. Ian was enjoying the last few minutes of their private time, but he was a bit nervous, thinking of his surprise. Now the moment was at hand, and all the worst case scenarios were playing out in his mind. 

Rose seemed to notice his tension. She raised up to peer at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” he assured her, a little too brightly. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Remembering his vow never to lie to his wife, he kissed her on the nose. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , really. Just a little on edge. You’ll find out very soon, I promise.”

She gave him a suspicious look, but didn’t comment further, just sank back down into his arms. 

Thirty minutes later, the coach rolled to a stop. Rose sat up again, out of his arms, peering out the window. 

“Where are we?” she asked, not looking back at him.

“It’s our stop,” he said, just as the door opened. He climbed out, then looked up at the building in front of him. It was lovely, he thought, and just as promised. Three stories of white stone with tall, decorative columns and large, arched windows. It took up the entirety of the block, and he prayed he’d made the right decision. 

Ian turned to help Rose down from the coach, taking in her look of confusion. “Ian,” she said, looking up at the mansion. “This isn’t Donna’s house.”

“No, it’s not,” he answered with his heart in his throat. “It’s yours.”

Her eyes were huge. “Mine?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Yours. Do you like it?”

“Your Grace,” came a voice from near the doors, and Ian glanced up to see the staff lined up to greet them. He took Rose’s limp hand and put it in the crook of his elbow, then led her over to the line of servants dressed in black. 

“Colin, I presume?” he greeted the first man.

The man bowed. “Yes, Your Grace. I’m Colin, the butler.”

“Quite right, good to meet you. This is Rose Docherty, Duchess of Gallifrey.”

Colin bowed again. “Your Grace.”

Rose couldn’t respond, still in shock, and Ian stroked her hand, giving Colin an apologetic smile. “Please forgive my wife, Colin, she’s just had a bit of a shock when she saw her Christmas present.”

“Of course, sir.”

She seemed to remember herself at last. “A pleasure to meet you, Colin.”

They worked their way down the line of servants until the last one had been introduced and spoken to, then Ian led Rose inside the house. It was just as Nardole had described, with rich wood paneling and deep blue walls. The floors were shining marble, and there was a grand staircase just in front of them that led upstairs. The furnishings were new and terribly fashionable, and he was pleased. Nardole deserved a bonus for a job well done. 

Ian turned to look at Rose, who was looking around the foyer in wonder. 

“Welcome to Smithwood Manor,” he told her, smiling. 

“This is ours?”

“Yes, it’s ours, and it’s never been lived in. It was built by a marquess who wanted to display his wealth, but he bankrupted himself attempting to show off and had to sell it. I bought it for a song. Do you like it?”

She still looked taken aback. “I don’t understand… you bought this house?”

“For you. Yes. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“This is a _Christmas gift_?”

“Too much?”

“Ian!”

He chuckled and kissed her hand. “I knew you missed the social whirl of Glasgow and the friends you’d made - not to mention our families. The duchy is running smoothly and there’s no reason we can’t visit a bit more than I’d anticipated. But why should we stay with my sister or your cousin when we can have our own home?”

Rose looked around the foyer in wonder. “It’s so big!”

“It’s got twelve guest bedrooms, a music room, three parlors and two lounges. There are two dining rooms - one for guests and one just for us - as well as a large breakfast room. You can entertain here to your heart’s content, and throw the season’s biggest balls. Donna will be green with envy.”

“You did this for me?”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Do you like it?”

She threw herself into his arms, and he laughed with joy. Some of the staff passed them, going back to their jobs, smiling to themselves. Ian didn’t care. He was holding his wife. 

“I forgot to mention,” he said in a low voice, still holding her tight, “it also boasts a large nursery.”

Rose squeezed him tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I love you.”

She laughed and pulled away from him, wiping her eyes. “I love you, too.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, using his thumb to brush away a tear.

“I’m wonderful,” she replied, beaming, then sniffled.

Ian leaned over and kissed her softly. “Good. Now, would you like to explore our new home before we send word around to the McAvoys and Fitzgeralds inviting them to join us for dinner?” His eyes darkened and he gave her a mischievous grin. “Maybe we’ll find some nooks and crannies to explore.”

Rose laughed. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

~*~O~*~

Rose barely had time to be apprehensive about hosting dinner with their family in the new house. Ian dispatched messengers to the Fitzgeralds and the McAvoys advising them that they had arrived and inviting them to dinner in a few hours, then started exploring the first floor of Smithwood Manor. They’d only examined two rooms when Ian pretended to have a lightning strike of inspiration and suggested they see their bedroom next. A giggling Rose didn’t mistake his meaning, nor the naughty twinkle in his eye, and she agreed readily. The rest of the afternoon was spent in bed, making love, christening their new home. 

Clara interrupted them from their post-coital bliss hours later, announcing the arrival of the McAvoys and shooing a smirking Ian into his own dressing room while she set about getting Rose dressed for dinner. As soon as they were presentable, Ian offered his elbow to Rose and they made their way downstairs to greet their guests. 

It was a joyous reunion that took place in the parlor, the women hugging tightly and the men shaking hands. They all talked excitedly over each other for a few minutes until Ian suggested taking the time left before dinner to show the Fitzgeralds and McAvoys around. Rose beamed up at him, full to overflowing with love and joy. He winked at her, then lowered his head for a quick kiss. She didn’t miss Donna’s surprised look, which quickly turned smug, but she was too blissful to care. 

The group made their way around the ground floor of the house, their guests commenting on how nice everything was. Rose was probably more impressed than anyone else: her new home, while smaller than Gallifrey, was absolutely _opulent_. There were even more rooms than Ian had told her, including a study for him, a drawing room for her, a billiards room, and an enormous library. Rose stepped into the library when they got there, looking around in awe, thinking she could never possibly read all the books there. The stacks were higher than she could reach, and there seemed to be thousands upon thousands of books - with empty bookshelves, waiting to be filled. To her delight, there was also a window seat just large enough for two people overlooking the rear garden. It was outfitted with cushions and a blanket in warm jewel tones. It was a delightful little reading nook, and she spun around excitedly to throw her arms around her laughing husband. 

“So you like it?” he asked, cheekily. 

“I love it.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Good. Nardole has virtually cleaned out all of the bookstores in Glasgow, as well as brought your books from London that you’d put in storage at Gallifrey.”

She squeezed him a little tighter, then let go, looking up at him with wonder. He smiled down at her, then pressed a kiss to her lips. She responded, sliding her mouth against his and parting her lips, letting his tongue breach. He groaned and pulled her tighter against him, just as she’d hoped he would, and Rose was becoming quite lost in the moment until there came a cleared throat from behind them. 

Reluctantly, Ian and Rose broke apart, giving each other and their guests shy smiles, murmuring apologies. The Fitzgeralds and the McAvoys just smiled and waved dismissively. 

They were touring the ballroom when Colin found them to announce dinner. The three couples followed the butler to the smaller, private dining room, and took their seats for dinner. Rose was sorry to have to sit away from Ian, as society dictated when entertaining, but she didn’t complain. Once they were all seated, the anxiety about dinner set in. It was all untested. The staff was new and no one had ever prepared a meal in the kitchens before. Her nervousness was for nothing, though: dinner was delicious and everything went off without a hitch. Rose was terribly pleased. 

Sitting down to a meal with her family felt like slipping into a warm bath for Rose, all peaceful and comfortable. It seemed no time at all had passed. Ian, Fergus, and Lee all teased each other and joked just like old friends and the women filled Rose in on all the social gossip she’d missed over the last three months. It didn’t escape Rose that her happiness was entirely due to Ian, and she cast him admiring looks often. When he’d catch her at it, the corner of his mouth would quirk up and he’d wink at her. She flushed and ducked her gaze back down to her meal. Nearly every time he gave her that look at home, in Gallifrey, they found themselves making love soon after, no matter the time of day. That certainly wasn’t an option now, while they had guests, but apparently, he couldn’t resist the urge to tease her. As much fun as she was having, she suddenly couldn’t wait to go to bed. 

After dinner, the men retired to Ian’s study for port and cigars while the ladies adjourned to Rose’s drawing room. Almost at once, Donna started talking about the entertainment possibilities the new house offered. Rose smothered a smile, thinking that she was amazed that her sister-in-law had been able to wait that long. 

“Think of it, Rose,” Donna was saying. “You could host the biggest balls of the season here. Or dinner parties. Or a musicale. Any type of entertainment, really, except a play.”

“She’s right,” Osgood chimed in. “Whatever you wanted to do would be within your capabilities.”

“I’m not sure we’ll be in town long enough to host anything grand,” Rose said. “We had planned on departing just after Hogmanay, and I’m not sure Ian will want to stay longer.”

“Two weeks is plenty of time for nearly anything you wanted to do. Think of how quickly we planned your engagement party - and we had time to spare! Why, even the ball I threw for Ian’s return to Scotland only took six days.”

That was true enough, Rose conceded to herself. 

“Oh, do say you’ll consider it,” Donna was saying. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

“I will, too,” Osgood pledged.

Rose sighed a little, then smiled. She could tell them that she really should run any plans by Ian first, but she could already hear him in her mind: _Whatever you want, sweetheart, it’s yours. That’s why I bought the house!_ She smiled at him, even though he was in another room, warmed by the very thought of him. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “Why don’t I come ‘round to yours tomorrow and we’ll go over your invitations and social calendar to find an acceptable date when we won’t step on too many toes?”

“That’s easy,” Donna said with a little wave. “You could have a ball for Hogmanay.”

Rose peered at her. “Don’t you think lots of other people will be having a party for Hogmanay?”

“Yes, but none of them are duchesses. Oh! Rose!” Donna said, clapping her hands excitedly, as if something had just occurred to her. “You could throw a masquerade ball! I haven’t been to one of those in ages!”

“Oooh,” Osgood said, her eyes lighting up. “A masquerade ball would be so much fun! I’ve only ever been to one, but it was a wonderful time. You’d love it, Rose.”

Rose fought the urge to shake her head with a smile. The decision had clearly been made for her, and all she could do was go along with it. 

“That sounds lovely,” she agreed, then warned with her finger raised, “As long as you help me. Remember, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I’ll help you, dear, don’t worry. And Osgood will, too. Right, Osgood?”

“Absolutely. Oh, it’s going to be so much fun!”

The conversation dissolved into excited chatter about planning the perfect ball. Rose was getting more and more excited about the event, wondering who she could dress as, when Donna abruptly changed topics. 

“So, Rose,” she said, her green eyes piercing but a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

“Yes?”

“You and Ian seem to be getting on well.”

Rose did her best not to flush. “We get on extremely well. I’m madly in love with him.”

“Everything all cleared up, then?”

“Yes. It took us a while, but the air is clear now.”

Osgood looked back and forth between the two other women. “I feel like I’m missing something here. Were Ian and Rose _not_ getting along at some point?”

Donna gave Rose a look as if to say, _Do you want to tell her or shall I?_ Rose sighed. 

“Rose?” Osgood asked, looking concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, everything’s fine. There was a… misunderstanding between Ian and myself. From the time he met me, he believed - mistakenly - that I loved someone else. So when he proposed to me, he proposed a marriage in name only.”

Osgood looked stunned. “And you agreed?”

“I did. I believed it was what he wanted, that he just wanted - forgive me, Donna - he just wanted to marry someone - anyone - to get his sister off his back about the subject. I knew I was deeply attracted to him at the time, and I hoped I’d one day be able to tempt him into a full marriage. Well, that’s not quite true. I hoped he’d one day fall in love with me. Turns out, he was in love with me nearly the whole time.”

Osgood turned to Donna. “How did you know about this?”

“I guessed. My brother doesn’t like to admit it, but I know him well. I could tell something was off about the whole thing. They were clearly mad about each other, but holding back for some reason. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but made a guess at the ball after their wedding. Ian didn’t deny it. He also told me he was in love with her, but when I tried to tell him she loved him, too, he wouldn’t listen. Neither would Rose.”

Rose had the grace to flush. “No, I didn’t. I was afraid to believe. And I owe you an apology. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen.”

Donna waved a hand. “Please, don’t apologize - although I wouldn’t mind hearing that from my brother. As long as the two of you are happy, I’m happy.”

“We are. Unimaginably so.”

Osgood still looked to be in a mild state of disbelief. “And you never said anything about this?”

“What could I have said?” Rose asked. “Even if I had told you, what could you have done, besides comfort me?”

“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Osgood allowed. “How did it get sorted?”

Rose’s cheeks heated again. “I kissed him one night, when he walked me to my room. He left me standing there in the corridor after, feeling like a fool. He told me later that he went to the study to drink himself into a stupor, but Nardole, his servant, came in and asked what was wrong. Ian told him that I loved someone else and who I supposedly loved, and Nardole laughed. He told Ian that he was mistaken. Very shortly after that, Ian was at my door, professing his love, and…” She trailed off, thinking back that first night and letting the memory of it wash over her. She smiled, then remembered her audience. “He moved me into his chambers the next day.”

Osgood’s eyes were wide and Donna’s brows were raised. “He moved you into his room?”

Rose nodded. “We haven’t spent a night apart since. It’s been almost two months.”

“So I can expect a little niece or nephew sometime soon, then?”

“Possibly,” Rose revealed with heated cheeks. “We’re not actively trying, not counting the days or anything like that, but we’re not _not_ trying, either.”

“Well,” Donna said with twinkling eyes. “I hope it happens soon. That way, my little one will have a cousin to play with.”

It took Rose a second to figure out what Donna was saying, but her sister-in-law lay her hands over her gently rounded tummy and smiled. “I’m due in April.”

In chorus, Rose and Osgood squealed, leaping to their feet and going to hug a laughing Donna. When they’d calmed somewhat and returned to their seats, Osgood and Donna started discussing the ins and outs of pregnancy: symptoms, trials, and joys. Rose just sat back in her seat, taking it all in. She did her best to learn what she could from the other women’s discussions, hoping that one day - maybe one day soon - it would be her stroking her growing belly lovingly the way Donna was now. For right now, however, she just beamed with joy for her friend and revelled in the knowledge that in a few short months, she’d be an auntie. 

She couldn’t wait.


	27. Chapter 27

26 December, 1823

The entertainment was at the front of the room, but Ian could hardly keep his eyes off his wife, seated beside him. She’d worn her wedding gown tonight to attend Lady Sarah Jane Smith’s musicale, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the day he’d wed her, nearly three months ago. At the time, he’d thought her to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Somehow, since that day, his wife had only grown in beauty, and now he was certain she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. 

Lady Smith’s music room was well-lit, but Rose seemed to glow all on her own. Logically, he knew she didn’t _actually_ glow, and any such effect was just the product of his love-soaked brain. But the part that refused to listen to logic when it came to his sweetheart was convinced that she _did_ glow like a goddess who walked the earth, living among mortals but somehow divine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him staring and turned her head to face him, her expression quizzical. Sensing his opportunity, he gave her a tiny smile then leaned over so his mouth was close by her ear. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he informed her in a whisper, then smirked to himself when gooseflesh broke out on her skin. She didn’t respond directly, but squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Ian, who was used to having his wife’s full attention whenever he wanted it, decided that wasn’t quite enough. He leaned just a little closer, so his lips were caressing the shell of her ear, then breathed, “I love you,” before brushing a ghost of a kiss on her ear. 

Rose squeezed his hand again, a little harder and longer this time, and whispered back, “I love you, too, but you’re being terribly rude.”

Ian didn’t give a damn about being rude, really, but he knew his sweetheart did. He wouldn’t embarrass her further, he decided. He sat up, squeezing her hand as an apology, and she cast him a furtive little smile. He smiled in return, then turned his attention back to the musicians at the front of the room. 

The music dragged on interminably, it seemed. In ordinary circumstances, he might have enjoyed himself more, but with Rose so close and the scent of her perfume wafting around him, all he could think of was getting her back to Smithwood Manor and into his arms. No one applauded more enthusiastically than he when the musicians finally played their last note. Although he appreciated their talent, his excitement lay in the fact that he was that much closer to being able to drag his wife off to their home. Rose gave him another questioning look, but he just winked in response. 

After the music ended, the reception began, where he was expected to mill around with the other guests, sip champagne, and chat inconsequentially about whatever filled the time. It was even less interesting than the music, but at least he wasn’t obliged to socialize very long. It would be rude to leave too soon, so he would spend some time doing what was expected of him. But after a half hour or so, he intended to pull his wife to the side and tempt her into leaving with him. It wouldn’t be difficult, he knew. His sweetheart craved their time alone nearly as much as he did.

They remained together for the first little while, his hand on the small of her back protectively, while they chatted with other guests. Most of the people present had received an invitation to the masquerade ball Rose was planning for Hogmanay, and it was a popular topic of conversation. Ian rarely contributed to the conversations, allowing Rose room to shine. And shine she did. Everyone seemed utterly charmed by her, nearly as charmed as he was. He was terribly proud of her and couldn’t help himself gazing at her admiringly. 

After a while, just when he was starting to wonder if the time were yet appropriate to leave, Rose asked him to escort her to the refreshment table for some champagne. They only made it a few steps before they were stopped by a couple who wished to discuss Rose’s Hogmanay ball. Ian stood politely with Rose until they were able to extract themselves and start towards the refreshment table again. Once again, they hadn’t made it far before they were stopped, and Ian did his best not to huff impatiently. When that couple left and another took their place, preventing them from getting to the refreshments yet again, he’d had enough. Rose was still chatting animatedly, but he excused himself politely, saying he’d be back in just a moment. He pressed a kiss to Rose’s cheek, then left before he could be detained again. 

He’d almost made it to the refreshment table when he heard his name. Gritting his teeth, he turned around to see who had called him. He was pleasantly surprised to see his cousin approaching. 

“Harold!” he said, holding out his hand to shake. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“My wife has an acquaintance with Lady Sarah Jane, so I frequently get dragged to these blasted things. How are you? Living the high life of a duke, I see?”

Ian snorted. “Something like that.”

“How’s married life treating you?” Harold asked, a glint in his eyes. “Have you tired of it yet?”

“Not at all. I find married life suits me extremely well. Rose has been a dream come true.”

Harold raised an eyebrow. “A dream come true, eh? I had no idea you harbored a dream to be married. Thought it was the opposite, actually. Freedom to sample young women all over the globe and all that.”

Ian furrowed his brow a bit. “You make me sound like a libertine. It wasn’t ever quite like that, but you’re right that I never harbored an ambition to marry. And with any woman other than Rose, I wouldn’t be nearly so happy. Would probably be quite miserable, actually.”

“I knew it,” Harold laughed. “You’ve succumbed to her feminine wiles and have fallen in love. You poor bastard.”

Harold’s words felt like an insult to Rose, but Ian brushed them off. Surely he hadn’t meant them that way. 

“I suppose you could phrase it like that,” Ian allowed. “At any rate, I’m mad about her. I may not have known I wanted domestic bliss, but I’m eternally glad to have found it.”

“Well, good for you,” Harold said, but it sounded perfunctory. “Am I to assume there will be the pitter-patter of little feet sometime in the near future?”

It was an entirely inappropriate question, but Ian allowed that his cousin’s current position as his heir would make the topic of great interest to him. Ian struggled to think of a way to answer him politely, but was distracted when a small hand slipped into his. 

He looked down to spot Rose beside him, giving a tight and entirely unnatural smile to his cousin. 

“Hello, Lord Oakdown. Are you enjoying the evening?”

“Indeed,” Harold replied with twinkling eyes, looking Rose up and down. Ian slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer without thinking. 

“I hear you have a new home,” Harold was saying. “And that you’ll be hosting a masquerade ball to celebrate Hogmanay. It’s the talk of the evening.”

“That’s right,” Ian said with a small smile. “You’ll be there, I hope.”

“Well, we would be, except we never received an invitation.”

Rose had gone tense beside him and Ian looked down at her quizzically. 

“An oversight, I’m sure,” she said smoothly. “I’ll look into it and make sure an invitation is issued. Ian?” She turned suddenly to look up at him. “I’m afraid I’ve developed a bit of a headache. Do you think we could make our excuses?”

“Absolutely,” he said at once, suddenly in a rush to leave and see to his sweetheart’s comfort. “Harold, if you’ll excuse us, my wife has taken ill.”

“Of course,” the other man said with a smile. “You must take care of your … beloved.”

Ian could _feel_ the tension radiating off of Rose, but didn’t look her way. He made his hand available to shake instead. “We’ll see you at ours on Hogmanay, then. Give our best to Lucy.”

“Will do. Feel better soon, Your Grace,” he said, making a little bow to Rose. 

She gave a tight smile - Ian assumed due to her headache - and said, “Thank you.” Then she turned and stepped out of his one-armed embrace, walking away. 

Ian followed, puzzled by her behavior. She seemed herself again when they made excuses to Lady Sarah Jane, but she was quiet while they waited for the coach to be brought around. He didn’t bother her, figuring that if her head hurt, she’d probably appreciate the silence. 

When the coach came around, he helped her into it, then climbed in behind her. As soon as the door closed, she was in his arms and he cradled her close, kissing her forehead. 

“I’m sorry your head hurts, sweetheart.”

“My head is fine. I was just ready to go.”

Ian was surprised for just a moment, then chuckled. “My duplicitous sweetheart, telling lies from her pretty little mouth. Whatever will I do with you?”

“That’s not the only lie I told,” she admitted, nuzzling closer. “I didn’t include Lord Oakdown in the invitation list on purpose, and wouldn’t like to include him now.”

He sat back from her a little, causing her to raise up and look at him. “Rose, sweetheart, he’s my _cousin_.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t trust him.”

Ian stared at her for just a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “Donna is exerting her influence over you, I see.”

Rose gave him a cross look. “Honestly, Ian, do you think me incapable of making up my own mind about a person?”

“No, but --”

“Yes, I’ve spoken to Donna about him, but my impression of your cousin was already formed through my own interactions.”

He was slightly annoyed, but trying not to be. “And what, pray tell, did he do that made you distrust him so?”

Rose looked contemplative, as if weighing something important, then shook her head. “Nevermind. It turned out to be a lie. But that’s the point: he lied to me.”

Ian raised a dismissive hand. “I’m sure he told you the truth as he knew it.”

“No, Ian,” she insisted, “he was intentionally deceptive. The lie he told could have done great damage, had I believed it. I don’t trust him and would prefer not to have him around.”

Ian looked at her carefully. Excepting when she’d claimed to have a headache this evening, he’d never known her to lie. But he’d never known Harold to lie, either; no matter what Donna claimed, Ian has never experienced his cousin being deceptive. Besides, he couldn’t cut his own cousin and the current heir to the dukedom out of his life because of a misunderstanding with his wife - any more than he could do so because of his sister’s ‘gut feeling’. To do so would be an extreme overreaction and downright silly.

“I’m sorry you had a misunderstanding with my cousin, sweetheart,” he said, hoping to placate her, reaching for her. 

To his surprise, she resisted. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a _lie_.”

“Alright,” he conceded, wanting to be done with the topic. “I’m sorry it happened. But Harold is my cousin and oldest friend. Don’t you think you could give him the benefit of another chance?”

Rose looked skeptical. “I’d rather not…”

“Please, sweetheart? For me?”

She sighed, resigned. “There’s nothing I won’t do for you, and well you know it.”

Ian chuckled, pulling her back into his arms and kissing the top of her hair. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Just… watch your back with Harold Saxon. For me and my peace of mind.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

~*~O~*~

27 December, 1823

Ian stood in the waiting area of the seamstress’ shop, flipping idly through the books of ladies’ fashions to try to keep himself busy. He and Rose had come out today, into the shopping district of Glasgow, to try on their costumes for the Hogmanay ball. They’d debated for several days about what or who to dress as, and had finally settled on dressing as Hades and Persephone. The idea had appealed to Ian because out of all the gods in the Greek pantheon, Hades and Persephone had the most loving, devoted marriage. He rather liked the thought of being a character who had loved his wife to distraction, and Rose had agreed. Further, it seemed fitting that she dress as a goddess, given the way he worshipped her. His wife had merely flushed when he’d explained that reasoning. 

She stepped out of the back of the shop wearing an absolutely stunning gown. The light, burgundy material draped over one shoulder, creating a loose sleeve, but left her other shoulder and arm bare to his gaze. There was some gold trim along the neckline and around the hem, but the dress was largely unadorned. Ian was struck - once again - by her beauty, and sure that even the goddess of the underworld herself could never have compared to his wife. 

Rose just smiled, raised her hands a little, and turned in a circle to show off her garment. 

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he told her honestly. “You’re stunning.”

“You mean the dress is stunning,” she teased.

“I said what I meant.”

She giggled, then looked down at the dress, plucking at the chiffon. “It’s not quite done yet. She’s going to add some more trim to the neckline and it will have a gold sash around the waist. She’s also working on a headpiece, and I’ll carry a basket of pomegranates as a prop.”

“I can’t imagine you looking any more lovely than you look right now,” he told her, fighting the urge to cross the room and kiss her bare shoulder. Displays of affection with one’s spouse were meant to be limited while in public, and he knew it quite well, but she was tempting him to distraction. God only knew what he was going to do at the ball, when her ensemble was complete. 

Rose seemed to sense his distress. She turned and looked over that bare shoulder at him, smiling demurely. Ian knew that look, and Rose knew what she was doing. Anytime she gave him that look in the privacy of their home, he ended up dragging her off to the nearest deserted room or secluded corner, but since they were in public, he was stuck clenching his hands and his jaw, fighting to maintain control of himself. Rose knew it, too, the little minx. She giggled at him, then winked, and he decided right then to drag her to their bedroom just as soon as they crossed the threshold of Smithwood Manor. 

“Guess I’ll just go take this off, then,” she teased. 

Oh, the little temptress was playing with fire. It was only her reputation and his desire to safeguard it that prevented him from making a scene, but his determination was waning. He smirked, his eyes flashing with seductive promise. Soon. 

“Go,” he instructed with a nod of his head in a low voice. “Take it off. Then come back to me.”

She giggled, then glanced around the waiting room to make sure they were alone. Once she was sure, she surprised him by crossing the room quickly, going on tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Later, yeah?” she whispered. 

“You can count on it,” he growled in return, squeezing her hips a little. 

Rose gave him a dazzling smile and disappeared into the back of the shop to change clothes. He took advantage of the time alone to regain control over parts of his anatomy that seemed to forget they were in public. 

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged wearing her original clothes, patting her hair into place, and smoothing her dress. It was all unnecessary; she looked absolutely stunning in the blue day dress, and his heart tripped over itself at the sight of her. 

After she made some final arrangements with the seamstress, he helped her into her coat, buttoning it up for her before he put on his gloves. Once she was suitably attired for the winter day, he offered her his arm. She took it with a bright smile and they started out onto the pavement. 

“That was fun,” Rose enthused. “I hope all our guests are having as much fun getting their costumes together.”

“I’m sure they are, sweetheart,” he told her, nodding to an acquaintance across the street as they passed. “Although I daresay most of the men are simply doing what they’re told. Like me.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Not having any fun at all, are you?”

“Of course I am. Following my wife’s every direction is nothing but a joy for me, honestly.”

She swatted his arm, giggling, making him laugh, loud and full. “Oh, stop it, you wretch.”

He chuckled a little more, then leaned over to kiss her forehead as they walked. “I love you,” he told her in a low voice.

She gazed up at him admiringly. “I love you, too, Ian Docherty.”

As they walked towards the tailor’s shop, they talked a bit about this and that, nothing of any consequence. It was a pretty day for midwinter in Glasgow, with the sun shining brightly, but it was still cold. He was warm enough in his greatcoat, but worried Rose might not be. Her coat seemed more fashionable than functional. 

If she was cold, it didn’t seem to slow her down too much. She stopped at nearly every vendor, oohing and aahing over all the wares and usually paying some kind of compliment to nearly everyone she met. Her effect on people was fun to watch: even the most sour-faced salesman brightened when Ian’s sweetheart spoke to him, giving him her smile. It made him love her somehow more.

Ian spotted a bookshop just ahead and smiled to himself. Despite the large collections of books at her disposal at both of their homes, he felt sure Rose would want to go in and have a look around. 

He was right. When she spotted the shop, she squealed excitedly and tugged on his arm. He surrendered at once and followed her, chuckling a little. 

Rose browsed the stacks, her fingers tripping over the spines, and she looked at the books with nearly the same loving look she bestowed upon him. He enjoyed watching her as she’d pick out a book, pull it off the shelf, and open it to read a passage. Most books were placed gently back on the shelf, but she kept one. 

“What have you got there?” he asked. 

“Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” she answered, showing him the gold-embossed tome. “It was my favorite book when I was a little girl. I remember my father gave it to me for Christmas when I was eight, and I’d bet I’ve read it through two dozen times by now. Some of the individual stories have been read much more than that.”

Ian gave her a puzzled look. “But don’t you already have a copy?”

“Yes,” she told him with twinkling eyes, “but Donna’s baby doesn’t. It’s a gift, from Auntie Rose.”

Ian smiled. “Auntie Rose? What about Uncle Ian?”

She gave him a playful shove. “I guess her Uncle Ian can sign the inscription, as well.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Her? Oh, it’s a girl, is it?”

Rose shrugged delicately. “Just a hunch I have.”

Ian escorted her to the front of the shop, handing the book to the shopkeeper. “Are your hunches regarding babies generally accurate?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “I’ve never had a friend who had a baby before. I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Ian agreed, handing over the coins to pay for the book. “We’ll see.”

In short order, they were back on the street, heading for the tailor’s to try on his costume. He was having a remarkably lovely day, and took a moment just to bask in the joy Rose had brought into his life. 

“Ian?” she asked from beside him. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What happens if I’m wrong and Donna has a boy? Would he automatically become your heir?”

Remembering their little row from the night before, he brushed off his mild annoyance at what he saw as her unfounded concern about Harold. Not wishing to row with her again, he approached the topic carefully. “Not automatically. When there is no direct successor, there’s a bit more flexibility. I’d have to change my will to name the baby my heir and take it away from Harold. I’m not inclined to do that, though.”

“Why not?” she asked, looking a little hurt. “The blood relation is closer, it only makes sense --”

“No,” he interrupted, “that’s not why.”

“Well, why then?”

“I simply don’t see the point,” he explained. “We’re more than likely to have a son at some point, and the title will go to him. It would be extraordinary for us to have only girls, but if we do, that would be perfectly alright. I can rewrite my will to leave the duchy to Donna’s son - or I could leave it to our eldest daughter’s husband, if I wanted. There are options, but there’s no rush.”

Rose had stopped in the middle of the pavement and was looking up at him with a wondering expression. “You’re serious,” she said. “I know you've said, but… You honestly wouldn’t mind a child.” 

He smiled down at her. “I told you, sweetheart, I wouldn’t mind enough children with you to fill the rooms of both our homes. I’m not anxious for our little honeymoon to end just yet, but starting a family with you would be the greatest gift the good Lord ever gave me.”

She threw herself into his arms, heedless of their surroundings, and he smiled into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her in return. He held her close as people bustled by, giving them knowing smiles. When she pulled back, she kissed him exuberantly - once, then twice, lingering a little. It wasn’t exactly proper to kiss one’s wife on a crowded street in the middle of the day, but Ian didn’t give a damn. 

When the kiss broke, she stayed in his arms. “You make me deliriously happy, Ian Docherty. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart, and there simply aren’t words for how happy you make me.”

She smiled and kissed him one last time, then stepped backwards out of his arms, her hand remaining on his cheek. He kissed her wrist impulsively. 

He was just about to turn and offer his elbow when the shot rang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry. I know it's been a hard week for fandom with Endgame (which destroyed me) and then GoT last night, and I hate that I'm adding to it with a cliffie. I'm so, so sorry. I genuinely considered not posting this chapter today, but it was either this or nothing. Forgive me?


	28. Chapter 28

There was a loud bang from somewhere, startling Rose, and she didn’t have time to wonder about it before Ian was tackling her, slamming her to the ground. All the breath left her body in one ‘oof’ and she lay sprawled under him, gasping for air. All around her there was screaming and shouting, but she was barely aware. Her concentration was focused on refilling her lungs. 

Ian was pinning her to the ground, his weight heavy on her, covering her but not looking at her. Instead, he was looking around, his eyes wild, and shouting at someone Rose couldn’t see. 

“It came from over there!” he yelled, pointing. “There, behind the stables! Quickly!”

She lay still, frightened and confused. Whatever happened had clearly upset Ian a great deal - she’d never seen him quite like this. The closest he’d ever been was when he’d rushed into her bedroom after the sofa fell on her a couple of months ago, and she didn’t like seeing him this way anymore now than she had then. 

When he stopped shouting for a moment, she moved her legs tentatively to see if she’d been hurt in the fall. She ached all over - no particular area seemed more sore than any other as far as she could tell - but it was hard to discern with Ian still lying on top of her. He seemed to notice her movements and clambered off of her. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”

She nodded from her place on the pavement, not entirely sure she was telling the truth. In all honesty, she ached all over, but telling him so would only serve to upset him. 

“I - I think so…”

“Are you hurt?”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t think so, I just hit the ground hard.”

Ian got to his feet, then reached down to help Rose up, slipping his arm around her torso to lift her. There was a sharp pain in her arm, and she assumed she must have landed on her shoulder when he knocked her down. 

“What happened?” she asked, feeling a little unsteady on her feet. 

“We were shot at,” he explained quickly, looking her over. “I heard the bullet whizzing by. Are you sure you’re not injured?”

She shook her head again, but absently reached up to touch the underside of her arm. It was _really_ starting to be quite painful.

“I don’t think so…” she told him, then pulled her hand away. There was something sticky on her fingers and she looked down at them.

Blood.

She looked up at Ian, her eyes wide, and she had time to take in the look of abject terror on his face before the world spun and she collapsed.

~*~O~*~

When Rose woke later, she wondered for a moment where she was, then wondered why she was in the bed in the middle of the day. She raised her head from the pillow and looked around, trying to get her bearings. Ian was at the door, speaking in a low voice to someone she couldn’t see.

Despite her whole body feeling somewhat sore and a sharp pain in the underside of her arm, she started to sit up. Her arm hurt to use, slowing her down. She’d no more than gotten the cover off her before Ian was there, covering her again. 

“Easy there, sweetheart. Easy. You need to stay in bed a while.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, although in truth, she felt tired and sore and her arm was throbbing. 

“You’re not fine, but you will be.”

Giving in to Ian’s urging, she didn’t protest further about getting up. Not at the moment, not when she still felt a bit woozy. Ian fussed over her for a few minutes, getting her comfortable and propped up on several pillows. Then, kissing her forehead and sitting down on the bed beside her, he took her hand into his and kissed it softly. “You really scared me, sweetheart.”

“What happened?”

“You were shot. The bullet grazed the inside of your arm when it passed directly between us. If you hadn’t just moved…” He swallowed hard. “You were very lucky. _We_ were very lucky.”

Like a flash, the entire incident played out in her memory. She didn’t exactly feel lucky at the moment, but Ian looked truly, properly scared, and it cowed her. “Did I faint?”

“You did.”

“Why?”

“A combination of shock and blood loss.”

“Am I going to be alright?”

Ian kissed the hand he held. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine. The doctor just left. He examined you when I couldn’t - I was too emotional. He stitched your wound and said to have you rest for the next day or so. I intend to enforce that,” he said with twinkling - but relieved - eyes. 

“Why did you call for another doctor?”

“I was out of my mind with worry, Rose. There’s no way I could have been objective, nor would my hand have been steady when I was trying to stitch you. Beyond that, the idea of taking a needle to your fair skin…” He drew a shuddering breath. “Ideally, doctors shouldn’t treat the people they love because when someone you love is sick or hurt, your instincts take over and your medical training can be forgotten. It’s best to have someone with no emotional involvement step in at that time, if possible.”

That made sense to Rose, and even warmed her a little. Ian loved her so much he thought his ability to be an effective Doctor would be compromised. She was touched. 

“I’m alright,” she told him, not entirely truthfully. She _was_ feeling stronger and less hazy now that she’d fully woken up, even if she was still in a fair amount of pain. But it was important to ease his worried mind, so she raised her free hand to his cheek to comfort him. 

“Thank Christ.”

“Who shot me?” 

“We don’t know,” he told her, and anger flashed in his eyes. “We may never know. But if I ever find out…”

“I’m sure it was an accident,” she soothed him. 

“I’m not quite so sure,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“We were in the middle of a busy street in one of the poshest areas of town,” he explained. “This would almost make sense had we been walking down the pavement in one of the slums, but that wasn’t the case. Why would someone have a gun out unless it was for a nefarious purpose?”

“Maybe they were cleaning it. Or maybe they’d just purchased it and didn’t know how it worked.”

“Or maybe someone wanted to hurt you,” he said darkly. 

Rose laughed a little. “Be serious, Ian.”

“I am being serious. Do you see me laughing?”

“No, but why on Earth would someone want to hurt _me_?”

“I don’t know. But if I ever _find out_ someone tried to hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m quite sure you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“No, because I don’t fancy having my husband hanged for murder.”

Ian looked mutinous, but Rose raised her chin defiantly. It was a ridiculous battle of wills over something completely hypothetical, yet she wasn’t willing to back down. It seemed important to draw this line in the sand. 

After a while, Ian sighed. “Fine. I won’t be plotting anyone’s murder. But I mean to protect you better. We’re going to cancel the ball, and until we leave town, I want you to stay in the house.”

“But Ian!”

“No buts. You have to be protected, sweetheart, and that’s the only way I can see.”

“This was a random accident,” she tried to reason. “There’s no way to predict random accidents.”

“That’s my point!” he said in a raised voice, almost a shout. The hands that were wrapped around hers were tense. “Anything could have happened today, Rose. What if the bullet hadn’t just grazed you?”

“But it _did_. You’re making too much of this!”

“And you’re not making enough of it!” Utterly frustrated, Ian got up and started pacing beside her bed. He looked more agitated than Rose had ever seen him, dragging his hands through his hair, making it wild, and down his face. “Even if it _was_ a random accident and it’s simply that Glasgow is becoming more dangerous, I don’t want to expose you to that!”

“So you propose to keep me in a gilded cage, safe from harm?”

“If I have to!”

“That’s absurd, Ian. An accident could happen anywhere at any time. Locking me away won’t prevent that.” Her mind flashed to the falling sofa two months before, but she decided not to point that out. No sense upsetting him further. 

“But tucking you away will decrease the likelihood that something else will happen!”

“Well I won’t abide it!” she finally snapped, shouting at him, tossing the blanket off herself, ignoring the pain in her arm and swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “You can’t stop me from living, Ian! I won’t be locked away! I tell you, I won’t!”

He dropped to his knees in front of her, bracketing her thighs with his forearms and cupping her bum with his hands. His head dropped into her lap and Rose was stunned into silence. It felt like he was trembling, and she had no idea what to do. 

After a moment, he spoke, his voice sounding broken, his face still buried in her legs. “Please, Rose. Please. I’ll beg.”

He sounded so raw, so vulnerable, that Rose felt most of her anger leave her. She brought one hand up to rest on the back of his head. “Ian…”

“Tell me what it’ll take to make you agree to this. Name your terms, sweetheart. Anything you want, it’s yours. Just please, _please_ , let me keep you safe.”

“You can keep me safe without curtailing my freedom,” she pointed out quietly. 

He looked up at her then, and she was surprised to see his eyes red and anguished. Any remaining anger she had bled away, and she touched his cheek. 

“Ian…”

“Do you understand how close I came to losing you today, sweetheart? Had that bullet been just an inch higher, a mere _inch_ , it would have severed your brachial artery. You would have bled out right there on the street while I watched, helpless to save you. Had it been six inches to the left, it would have hit you in the chest, piercing your lungs and likely your heart. There would have been nothing I could have done. You would have died, Rose, in my arms, while I was forced to watch the life leave your eyes. I can’t…” His eyes grew moist. “I can’t bear the thought. I just can’t. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Tell me what it takes.”

Her eyes filled with hot tears, blurring his beautiful face, until she blinked and they spilled onto her cheeks. Rose slid her thumb over his skin, just wanting to comfort him in any way she could, while her lip wobbled. 

“I love you so much,” she whispered. 

Ian leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you, too, sweetheart. So very much. I couldn’t bear to lose you. It would kill me, Rose. Please, please let me protect you.”

She thought fast, trying to come up with a compromise. “What if I agree to not leave the house unless you’re with me? I won’t go out with only Clara anymore. I’ll promise to venture out only with you, or, if you’re not available, with Nardole.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. It was much less than he wanted, she knew, but she hoped he’d agree, anyway. It seemed like a fair compromise to her, and she was desperate not to lose her freedom - although she wanted to ease his mind as best she could. 

“And you won’t wander off?”

“No. I’ll stay right beside you. I promise.”

He sighed heavily. “Alright. As long as you swear to have me and Nardole with you.”

“ _And_ Nardole?”

“Yes, _and_. He’ll accompany us out and he’ll be armed, so be aware of that.”

Rose could live with that. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, cradling him as best she could. He embraced her as well, his hands clutching the back of her nightgown. She lowered her head to kiss his hair, then let her lips rest there. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “You’re my whole world, Rose. Every good thing in my life is down to you. It would destroy me to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, handsome,” she promised. 

He sighed, and she could sense he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Rose was glad. 

“There’s one more thing I want,” she told him.

He raised his head to look at her. “What’s that?”

Her tongue touched the corner of her mouth. “I want you to join me in bed,” she informed him, her eyes twinkling. 

She could see the want flare in his eyes, but he said, “We can’t. Your stitches need a few days to heal.”

“Who said anything about making love? I just had a very harrowing experience, Ian Docherty. I’d like to be held and comforted by my big, strong husband.”

Ian lengthened his body to press a kiss to her lips. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart. Anything to keep you in bed where you can heal.”

“And we can still have the ball?” she asked as he got to his feet and she scooted back towards the pillows. 

He sighed again as he crawled onto the bed beside her. “Oh, alright. But don’t be surprised if I don’t let you out of my sight.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” she told him, then nuzzled into his side - her favorite place to be.


	29. Chapter 29

31 December, 1823

Ian looked around the ballroom at the growing crowd, taking it all in. It was a little hard to process sometimes, just how radically different his life was, compared to just a few months ago. At this time last year, he’d been in North Africa, living and working amongst the population there, educating the locals about modern medicine. It had been blisteringly hot, even in winter, and the people of the town he’d been in didn’t celebrate the changing of the year. Hogmanay had passed without much notice from him, and he hadn’t really missed it. His life had been work - at least, the work he’d chosen for himself, instead of the work left to him by his brother - and that had made him as happy as he ever dared hope to be. He’d work with the people of a town or province for a few weeks or a couple of months, teaching them what he could, until that urge to move on to the next thing had come, then he’d packed up and left. Staying in one place for any length of time had been unthinkable and he’d liked his nomadic lifestyle. He’d known it couldn’t last forever, though, had known that one day, he’d have to give in to the responsibilities waiting for him in Scotland. It was only a matter of time, but he’d thought he’d be able to avoid it a little longer. 

When he’d received the letter from Donna this past summer, while he was staying in Barcelona, he’d figured at first that he’d be able to dismiss it like all the others. After all, he got some version of the same letter every couple of months. But something had shifted in him with the reading of that particular letter, some unknown force had tugged him, and he’d decided to stop running and go home. It was during that journey, completely by chance, that he’d met his wife. 

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he understood what had been pulling him towards Scotland and what had led him to that carriage inn that August day. He’d never believed in fate, destiny, or divine intervention before, but he absolutely did now. How else could he explain Rose? She was a miracle, and well he knew it. 

If someone had told him a year ago, in North Africa, that today he’d be standing in the ballroom of his new townhouse, waiting with bated breath for his wife to make an appearance at the ball they were hosting, he’d have laughed himself silly and called the person stating such a thing a liar. Hell, even six months ago, he’d have laughed and accused them of lying. But he’d have been dead wrong. 

He’d never been so happy to be wrong. 

The ballroom was filling with people, some in full costume like he and Rose, other simply in their formal attire and a mask. He’d never attended a costume ball before and, while he felt a little silly, he could see where this evening might be fun. He couldn’t admit that out loud, of course, or he’d never hear the end of it from his sister, but he was enjoying himself so far. Rose had worked hard to make her Hogmanay ball the toast of the season, and all indications so far were that she’d succeeded. People were arriving constantly, and he was certain that some of them hadn’t been invited. It seemed Rose’s ball was about to be a smash success - a crush, as Donna called it. 

But the crowds made him more than a little nervous. He hadn’t forgotten the terror he’d felt when Rose had been shot a few days ago, and although she seemed to be brushing off the idea of someone wanting to hurt her, Ian was less inclined to do so. The area of town they’d been in had always been quite safe, and he’d never heard of anyone being hurt, robbed, or otherwise molested there. In his discussions with Fergus and Lee after the shooting, neither of them had reported that that area of town had changed overmuch in the last two decades, since he’d been gone. According to his brother in law and Rose’s cousin, that area of Glasgow was hardly dangerous, and what happened to Rose must have been a fluke. Ian was anything but comforted. That knowledge just made him even more uneasy. 

Logically, he knew Rose and their families were probably right and the shooting had been an accident. He’d done his best to believe that and relax. But he’d seen enough of the ugliness of the world to know better than to blindly trust that everyone was pure of heart, with good intentions. Even the kindest-seeming person could be harboring dark secrets and turn on you on a whim, and he was wary. His personal circle of trust was rather small. When it came to people he trusted with his wife, it was even smaller. She was too precious to let his guard down. If anything were to happen to her…

He shuddered at the thought, then did his best to brush it aside. Rose was happy and healthy, currently upstairs with Clara, putting the finishing touches on her hair and running incredibly late. She’d be downstairs in just a moment and he’d be able to breathe easier once he could see her. 

He’d agreed to let the costume ball proceed as planned with one caveat: he insisted that Nardole be in attendance to provide extra security. Rose had protested this arrangement a little, rolling her eyes and telling him he was being ridiculous, but Ian had refused to back down. She’d finally acquiesced, shaking her head indulgently and calling him daft before she kissed his brow. Ian didn’t care what she called him. She could think whatever she liked, so long as she was safe.

Nardole was doing as he’d been assigned, mingling with the newly-arrived guests in an effort to root out any undesirable people who may not have revelry on their minds. Ian gave him a nod when their eyes met, and the other man returned the nod. 

The air changed when Rose entered the ballroom, Ian could feel it, and he looked over to the double doors she’d just walked through. She looked every inch the goddess in her Persephone costume. It had been embellished a bit since he’d last seen it, and was now even more stunning. The burgundy, gauzy material draped her almost seductively, clinging in some areas and flowing from others. As he’d expected, one shoulder and arm were bare, and it happened to be the arm that had been injured earlier in the week. Rose had cleverly hidden her wound with a gold armband that looked perfectly natural with the outfit. Her hair was styled elaborately around a headpiece that matched the gown, curls piled on top of her head and tumbling downwards, and he was very much looking forward to ruining her hairstyle with his hands later that night. Her mask covered half of her beautiful face, which was a damn shame, but it was pretty in its own way, he supposed, with its jeweled pomegranates. She was smiling gently at no one in particular, her head turning about the room, and he knew she was looking for him. He took a moment to appreciate just how gorgeous she was, but didn’t get long to admire her before she turned his way, spotting him and smiling brightly enough to outshine the sun. He felt his heart trip over itself at the sight of her. She radiated beauty from every pore and he loved her with all of his body and soul. 

With his eyes still locked on her, he made a beeline across the room to where she stood. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and he couldn’t tell because of the mask, but he was sure that if he had been able to see her eyes from where he was, they would have been twinkling at him. 

In just a few moments, he’d made his way over to her and didn’t hesitate before scooping her hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. Now that he could see, he could tell he’d been right - her eyes _were_ twinkling from behind the mask - and he resisted the urge to haul her into his arms and kiss her. Just barely. 

“You look stunning, Your Grace,” he said instead, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. 

“Thank you. You don’t look half bad, yourself.” She plucked at the fabric of his costume and he looked down at it, taking it in. A grey tunic was covered with a black toga, bordered with a Greek, geometric pattern. The toga was fastened at the shoulder with a large, silver pin shaped like a skull, similar to the ones that decorated his black mask. 

“Thank you.”

“Are you over feeling silly about dressing up in costume?” she asked, her tongue appearing between her teeth. 

That tongue proved to be more temptation than he could handle, and he dipped his head to kiss her, cupping the back of her head, mindful not to ruin her hair. Yet. 

When he released the kiss, Rose smiled up at him and his heart swelled with love. 

“Should we greet our guests?”

“I suppose so,” he sighed. “If we must.”

She giggled a little, then squeezed his fingers and released them, sliding her hand up his arm into the crook of his elbow. “Come,” she said. “Let’s be sociable.”

Ian went along gladly. Whatever his sweetheart wanted.

~*~O~*~

There was a marked difference in social occasions now as compared to the time before she and Ian had been married, Rose noticed. They were able to stay together most of the time now, side by side as they mingled with their guests. She knew he was relieved, especially after the unfortunate event earlier in the week that had left her injured. He was sticking closer to her than usual, she knew, because of the shooting, but as the night wore on and no threats presented themselves, he loosened up a bit. The champagne helped. 

She danced often with her husband, and when they weren’t dancing, they were standing together as they talked and socialized. Ian kept his hand on some part of her nearly constantly, which was somewhat improper but she’d grown used to his tendency to touch her and certainly didn’t mind at all. He kissed her frequently, in full view of everyone, which was _more_ than a little improper, but when she murmured to him that he was being scandalous, he just shrugged and said, “It’s my house.” Rose didn’t bother to argue with him. She just giggled and accepted another kiss. 

The only times she left his side was when asked to dance - and even then, she didn’t go every time. Ian had let her go begrudgingly when Fergus and Lee had asked her to dance, but when any other man had asked, he’d tightened his arm around her and said, “Actually, I was just about to whisk her away myself. If you’ll excuse us…”

Rose knew only too well that he hadn’t been intending to dance with her right at that moment, but she never contradicted him. The only man whose arms she wanted to be in was her husband’s, and his little jealous and protective streak worked much to her advantage, in this case. The fact that he wasn’t allowing her to dance with anyone who wasn’t family was not a bother to her, not in the least.

All in all, the evening seemed to be a rousing success. There were certainly more people present than she’d invited, but Donna had advised her to plan for such an occurrence and she’d been prepared. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and Rose was relieved. She was having fun, too, and although she’d been worried that Nardole would hover and disrupt her enjoyment, he was keeping his distance and Rose was glad. 

She’d just returned from dancing with Lee, sidling into Ian’s side and smiling happily when his arm went around her waist. He was talking to Donna, who was stroking her belly idly. Ian had been even more excited by the prospect of a baby for Donna and Lee than Rose had (which was really saying something), and she’d been amused to see his protective instincts come out in regards to his sister. He desperately wanted a healthy baby for Donna and Lee, and was doing everything he could as a doctor to help her. It just made Rose love him all the more. 

The four of them were chatting pleasantly when all of the sudden, Donna’s smile dropped, replaced with a scowl. Rose tensed instinctively, but before she could ask what was wrong, she heard Harold Saxon’s voice behind her. 

“Ian! Good to see you.”

Ian turned and offered his free hand with a smile. “Good to see you, too! I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely lovely. It's a wonderful party.”

Ian puffed with pride and squeezed Rose’s waist. 

“If you’ll excuse us, Ian, I think I’d like to dance with my husband,” Donna said with a forced smile, not looking at Harold. 

Rose desperately wanted to go with her, to get away from Lord Oakdown, but Ian sighed. “We’ll talk soon.”

Without another word, Donna and Lee disappeared and Rose was left alone with Ian and Lord Oakdown. She did her best to smile politely, but felt sure the look on her face was more of a grimace. It was the best she could do. 

“I was wondering,” Lord Oakdown was saying, “if I might steal Rose away for a dance. Just one, of course. I’ve seen how protective you are of her.”

Ian chuckled at Oakdown’s little joke, but Rose stiffened like a statue. She didn’t even want to _speak_ to Oakdown, much less dance with him! Desperately, she looked up at Ian, imploring him silently not to make her dance with his cousin, and Ian looked back down at her. His look was a clear attempt to soothe and encourage her. It did little to quell her doubts. 

“That’s up to Rose,” he said, throwing the ball into her court. She now found herself in a terrible situation. If she didn’t dance with Lord Oakdown, that would be a snub from a duchess, and socially ruinous. But if she _did_ dance with him, she’d have to be near to him and pretend to enjoy his company. What could she do?

She ground her teeth and turned to the odious man. “Of course, Lord Oakdown. It would be my honor.”

He gave her an oily smile and extended his hand. Rose hesitated for just a moment, then felt a reassuring squeeze from her husband. Taking a deep breath, she took Lord Oakdown’s extended, gloved hand. 

She followed him out onto the dance floor, fuming the entire way, then allowed herself to be pulled into his arms - although she kept as much distance as she could, her posture stiff. Lord Oakdown just smirked at her, as if he knew exactly what she was doing and was amused by it. The music started and they began to dance. 

Rose did her best not to look at him, but she could _feel_ his eyes on her. It was a deeply unsettling feeling, and she prayed for the dance to be over soon. 

“Congratulations, Your Grace. You’ve pulled off quite a lovely ball.”

“Thank you,” she said shortly.

“Of course, I have to question the wisdom of making it a masquerade ball.” He ran his gloved fingers down her bare shoulder. “When you’re wearing a mask, it’s much harder to see your lovely face.”

“I would remind you that I’m married, Lord Oakdown.”

“Yes, you are. To my cousin, the Duke. How are things, by the way? He seems totally enamored of you.”

Rose grit her teeth. “The feeling is entirely mutual. We’re quite in love with each other.”

“Indeed,” Lord Oakdown agreed. “I’ve even heard that there may be the pitter-patter of little feet in your future. How exciting that would be! Tell me, are you yet increasing?”

“This is an entirely inappropriate subject for you and I to discuss, and what’s more, whether I am or am not increasing is not your concern,” she ground out. 

Lord Oakdown smirked. “Oh, come now, Your Grace. Your husband is fond of me. Why can’t you be?”

“Because you lied to me!” she snapped, then glanced around to make sure she wasn’t drawing attention to herself.

“I did no such thing.”

“You most certainly did! You implied that my husband was… that he…”

Lord Oakdown’s eyes twinkled malevolently. “I merely stated that he’d never shown an interest in the matrimonial state before you came along, a fact I’m sure he’s conveyed to you himself. Anything further you took away from our conversation was a personal leap to a conclusion and had nothing to do with me.”

“You are an odious toerag,” she spat, not caring about her surroundings anymore, just barely noting that the song had ended. “Get out of my house and never come back. I have no desire to ever see you again.”

“Ah, but I’m your husband’s heir, Your Grace. You can’t get rid of me.”

Rose didn’t dignify that with a response. She turned her back on her husband’s cousin and marched away, uncaring of how it would look to anyone. She went straight to her husband, who was talking to Fergus, and stood there beside him until he noticed her. 

“Rose? Are you alright? I thought you were dancing with Harold?”

“I was, but I left him on the dance floor and wild horses couldn’t convince me to join him again. If you love me at all, Ian Docherty, you’ll never make me converse with him again!”

Ian looked stunned by her uncharacteristic outburst, then sighed. “Rose…”

“No, Ian, I mean it. I want nothing to do with him, ever. You’re welcome to be as friendly with him as you like, but leave me out of it!”

He opened his arms and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Alright, sweetheart. If it means that much to you, I’ll keep the two of you apart.”

She relaxed a little in his arms. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Fergus cleared his throat from nearby. “Am I interrupting a domestic?”

Rose blushed, realizing she’d just made a minor scene in front of her cousin. “No, Fergus, and I’m sorry. I just got… a little emotional.”

Her cousin chuckled. “Quite alright. But if you’re not dancing with Lord Oakdown, do you mind if I steal you away before we take our leave?”

“Oh? You’re leaving so soon?”

“We have a baby to get home to,” Fergus smiled. “You’ll understand one day soon, I’m sure.”

Rose’s cheeks heated again, and she nodded. “I’d love to dance with you, Fergus. Ian, would you dance with Osgood?”

Ian was looking over her head at someone, distracted. “I will, sweetheart,” he said absently, then looked at her and smiled. “Let me tend to a little business, then I’ll be a good host. Promise.”

“Okay,” she agreed, then turned her face up for a kiss. He gave it, and she put her hand into Fergus’. “Let’s go dance.”

~*~O~*~

“What do you have for me?” Ian asked Nardole a couple of minutes later, on the side of the ballroom. 

“Things seem remarkably quiet, Doctor,” Nardole reported. “Everyone seems to be having a good time, and no one is acting suspiciously.”

Ian was relieved to hear it. It was nearly midnight, and if they’d made it that long without some sort of foul play, he could likely relax. He clapped his hand on Nardole’s shoulder. “Good man. Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you --”

A scream from the general vicinity of the dance floor cut through his words, and he turned towards the source of the noise. There seemed to be a crowd gathering in the center of the ballroom, and someone cried out, “Doctor! She needs a doctor!”

Ian turned away from Nardole and started towards the commotion, his heart in his throat. He indiscriminately pushed aside anyone in his way, even as the crowd thickened around him. He was halfway there when he heard Fergus shouting, “Ian! Someone get Ian!”

He was sure his heart stopped in that moment and he started shoving people, desperate to get to the center of the crowd. Some people saw him coming and stood aside, letting him pass, but it still took ages to get to his destination. When he did, he let out a primal cry of anguish. 

Rose lay on the floor in front of him, her mask knocked to the side, convulsing, a small drip of blood coming from her nose.


	30. Chapter 30

2 January, 1824

There were voices in Rose’s bedroom. She could hear Clara, but couldn’t tell what she was saying. It sounded as if she were crying. Had she had a row with Mr. Pink? Rose wanted to go to her friend to comfort her, but exhaustion paralyzed her. 

Was it time to rise? She didn’t want to. As she became more aware of herself, she realized that she was in quite a lot of pain. What had happened? Whatever it was, she wanted to sleep until the pain passed. Maybe Ian would tell Clara to let her rest for a while. Where was he?

Oh, there he was, she could hear him now, but he sounded cross. _Very_ cross. He was shouting at someone Rose didn’t know. Why was he angry?

“Ian,” she called, but her voice was weak. She tried to reach for him, but her arms felt heavy and only her fingers moved weakly. “Ian…”

She felt his presence beside her at once, although she couldn’t see him. Both of his hands closed around hers, and his voice was close to her face.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Oh, precious girl, I’m here. I love you so much, Rose,” he said, his speech pressured, as if he was concerned he wouldn’t have enough time to say what needed to be said. There was something else odd about his voice. Was he crying, too? She tried to open her eyes to see him but it felt as if they were weighted. They barely fluttered open. 

He looked a wreck, as if he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark smudges under his red eyes, and his jaw sported a stubble of a beard. With a mighty effort, she gave his hand a weak squeeze. “I love you, too,” she said, or at least she tried to say. Then she rested, even more exhausted and hurting more than she had been. “Am I ill?”

Ian’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yes, Rose. You’re very, very ill. I need you to rest so you can get better.” 

Clara sobbed in the background, and Rose gathered her strength to ask, “Did you make Clara cry?”

“No, sweetheart,” he assured her. “Clara’s alright. She’s just afraid for you. We all are.”

“I’m fine, Rose,” Clara said, her voice still clotted with tears, closer now. “Don’t worry about me. You just rest.”

Rose started to argue, but didn’t have the strength. Her eyes slid closed, but she tried to smile to reassure them. “I’m tired,” she managed. 

“Sleep, sweetheart,” Ian told her, pressing a kiss to the hand he held. “Sleep, but promise me - _swear_ to me, Rose - that you’ll wake up.”

The desperation in his voice frightened her, but she was in too much pain to worry too much about anything. 

“I promise,” she assured him - or at least she tried to, before sleep overtook her.

~*~O~*~

5 January, 1824

When she woke again, she could tell it was night, even before she opened her eyes. She was lying in her bed at Smithwood Manor, and although there were a few candles burning, the room was mostly dark. Her body still ached and she was still weak, but not so bad as last time she’d wakened, when she’d felt nearly paralyzed. She gave her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the low light, then looked around. 

Ian was in a chair beside the bed, holding one of her hands in both of his with his head resting on them. He was in his shirtsleeves, and the shirt he wore was badly wrinkled. For the first time, she wondered how long she’d been asleep. 

She flexed her hand, squeezing his, and he stirred. The movement was small, sleepy, until she squeezed his hand again. He sat up suddenly, his eyes wide. 

“Rose! You’re awake!”

“I’m awake,” she croaked, her throat raw and dry. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing in her mouth to swallow, and she grimaced. “Water?” she rasped, and at once, Ian let go of her hands and moved out of her field of vision. She tried to follow what he was doing with her eyes, but quick as a flash, he was back and pressing a glass to her lips. 

“Drink, sweetheart. You need water. Drink.”

She did as he instructed, raising her head from the pillow and taking tiny sips of the water he was giving her, then, when she was done, resting her head again. Just that little bit of motion had tired her out, and she sighed. 

Ian came to sit on the bed beside her, taking her hand again and kissing it, his eyes closed. He murmured something she didn’t catch, and she rather thought his words might have been prayers.

“What happened?” she asked when he quieted. 

“You scared me to death, sweetheart.”

“What did I do?”

“You were poisoned. Somehow you ingested something at the ball and nearly died. You nearly _died_ , Rose.”

“Was anyone else ill?”

“Not that I’ve been made aware of. Only you.”

She was relieved to know that nobody else had taken ill at her party and sighed a little. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Four days.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Have you been here this whole time?”

He kissed her hand again. “Where else would I be, sweetheart?”

“So that’s why you look like hell.”

Ian smiled a little at that. “I’ve seen you looking much better yourself, Duchess.”

She didn’t doubt that, and gave him a little smile. 

“You were delusional and deathly ill,” he told her, answering a question she hadn’t asked. “Anything we gave you for the first couple of days came right back up - violently. You also had convulsions from time to time. You weren’t making sense and thought you were back in London. You didn’t…” He swallowed hard. “You didn’t recognize me. Sometimes we’d think you were coming out of it, sometimes you’d seem to know me, then you’d start talking nonsense again. It was horrible, sweetheart. The worst experience of my life.”

Rose’s heart broke for him. He sounded so fragile, so afraid, and she never wanted him to feel that way. She squeezed his hand. “Am I alright now?”

“Yes - or at least, you will be. The toxin will have left your bloodstream by now and you’ll be gaining strength slowly. It’s imperative that you rest, though, Rose.”

She had no intention of arguing with him about that. Her whole body still ached and she felt bone-tired, like she’d run a hundred miles. Sleep was all she wanted. Sleep and Ian. 

“I heard you shouting at someone. Why were you so cross?”

“Because that fucking idiot doctor tried to tell me and Clara that you weren’t likely ever to fully wake up. He was convinced you were going to die and there was nothing he could do. But you woke up while I was shouting at him. When you fell back asleep, I sacked him and had another doctor brought in, one that was much more competent.” 

Rose nodded slightly. “You mentioned Clara. Where is she?”

“She’s below stairs, hopefully asleep. It’s three thirty in the morning. She refused to leave your side, too, sweetheart, and slept in a chair by the fire the last three nights. I made her go below stairs tonight and promised her that if you woke, I’d ring her right away. I suppose I should do that…”

“No,” she said, squeezing his hand to keep him from leaving her. “I don’t want you to go.”

His eyes became even more tender. “You were so close to death, Rose. I thought I’d lost you.”

She smiled at him. “It’s going to take more than some bad nibbles to get rid of me, Ian.”

“This wasn’t bad nibbles, sweetheart. This was poison. And since you were the only person harmed, I have to conclude that someone was trying to hurt you deliberately.”

She would have given him a disbelieving look, but the tiredness and aching in her body wouldn’t let her. Instead, she asked, “Do you know what poison it was?”

Ian gritted his teeth. “No, otherwise we’d have likely had an antidote and the duration of your illness would have been much shorter. It didn’t behave like any poison I’ve ever seen, which made it all the more frightening.”

To Rose’s tired mind, that seemed like evidence that it wasn’t poison at all, just spoiled food or an allergy or something. But she didn’t say so. They could argue about that later, when she felt better.

She looked over at him, giving him a more objective look. Even in the low light, she could see that his eyes were red and pained. He looked utterly exhausted, completely done in. The stubble of scruff he’d had when she’d awakened before was now thicker and longer, a short beard. She raised her hand to touch it, and he leaned into the touch, his eyes wet. Rose didn’t think she could bear to see him cry, so she smiled.

“I like this,” she told him, stroking the stubble. “It’s a good look for you.”

“Not very fashionable, I’m afraid.”

Rose grinned. “Since when do you care about being fashionable?”

His tired eyes twinkled at her. “That’s very true.”

“I like it. Maybe you should consider leaving it. But it disturbs me, too, because it tells me that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

He kissed her knuckles. “I had someone more important to take care of, sweetheart. But don’t worry. Clara has bullied me into eating once a day, although she couldn’t make me leave your side to do it.”

“Good for Clara.” Rose resolved to give her a pay raise, for taking care of Ian. “But you’ve been in that chair for four days?”

“The fifth day began a couple of hours ago,” he acknowledged. 

She patted the bed beside her. “Come. Sleep with me.”

He looked hesitant. “Rose…”

“I want you to sleep with me, Ian. It’ll make me feel better to know you’re getting some rest.”

“I should ring for Clara,” he demurred. “She should bring up some food, you need to eat.”

“Let Clara sleep,” Rose answered in as stern a voice as she could manage. “Even if she _did_ bring food, I wouldn’t be awake to eat it. I’ll be asleep again very soon, I can feel it creeping up on me. But I want to drift off in my husband’s arms. Would you deny me?”

She’d known he’d respond to that: he complained frequently that he could deny her nothing, and now was no exception. With a shake of the head and a little sigh of resignation, he pressed one last kiss to her knuckles and got to his feet. Rose took advantage of the opportunity to look at him, and the rest of his clothes - what few there were - were as disheveled as his shirt. It seemed he’d dressed only prefunctorially, just decent enough to be able to receive the doctor or any other callers. He toed off his shoes and circled the bed to the other side, away from her. Gently, he lifted the covers and slid between them, scooting closer to her. With a mighty effort, Rose turned to face him. Once he’d reached her, he enfolded her into his arms, tangling his legs with hers, and both of them let out a long, contented exhale. She nuzzled into his chest, taking in his scent, and felt him press a kiss to her hair. 

“I love you, Rose Docherty,” he murmured. “I love you so, so much. I don’t know what would happen to me if something happened to you. I don’t think I’d want to go on living.”

“Don’t say that,” she admonished, nuzzling a little closer. “One day, one of us is going to leave the other. There’s no way around it.”

“But that day isn’t today,” he assured her. “You’re safe and in my arms, where you belong. And I’m going to _keep_ you safe, Rose. I swear it.”

“I believe you,” she assured him, then pressed a kiss to his chest, over his heart. Sleep was creeping up on her, now that she was comfortable in his arms, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it back for long. Ian’s breathing was becoming slower and more regular, and she was pleased to feel him relax around her. He likely needed to rest more than she did, honestly, and she meant to make sure he got what he needed. But a thought occurred to her and she voiced it before she drifted off. 

“Ian?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

He leaned his head back a little to peer at her. “What on Earth could you possibly be sorry for?”

“We vowed ‘for better or worse, in sickness and in health’ to each other. I just never dreamed you’d be forced to keep those vows so soon in our marriage. I thought we’d have more time for the ‘better’ before the ‘worse’ came to bite us.”

Ian dipped his head forward and kissed her lightly. It was just a brush of his lips against hers, but it set her soul on fire. 

“We have plenty of time for the good parts, Rose,” he assured her, his voice soft and comforting. “We have the rest of our lives together. And I fully intend to do everything in my power to make sure the ‘better’ far outweighs the ‘worse’. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, handsome.”

He pressed a kiss to her nose, then tucked her head under his chin and sighed. Rose sighed too, listening to the comforting lull of his heartbeat until sleep claimed her, yet again.


	31. Chapter 31

29 January, 1824

It had taken Rose a few days to regain her strength after she’d fallen so desperately ill at the costume ball. Her husband had never left her side the entire time she was recuperating, and her maid was also a near-constant companion. Ian and Clara had joined forces to take care of her, and while she loved both of them dearly, they were a formidable force when united. Sensing her own defeat (and honestly not feeling her best), Rose had surrendered to their will - for the most part. At their behest, she’d stayed in bed for two days after she woke, only getting up to relieve herself. When she started to chafe at the confinement, insisting she was well enough, Ian and Clara agreed to let her get dressed and sit up in the chair beside the fire in her bedroom. It wasn’t much, but Rose was grateful for any reprieve. After a day of that, she convinced Ian to let her go downstairs for dinner, and then to spend the rest of the evening with him in the library. She’d never have admitted it, but that little bit of exertion had tired her out and she was grateful to get back to her bed when they retired. 

Two days later, after a bit of careful pouting and eyelash-batting, Ian relented on his policy that she could have no visitors, and Rose was allowed to receive guests - for a short while and under his watchful eye. Rose was pleased to have him around, but thought it was more than a little overkill. She didn’t need to be watched, she argued, and her friends were trustworthy, too. But her husband was adamant that he be with her while she visited and that Nardole hover nearby, although he did permit the manservant to be out of sight. Rose had just sighed and accepted his terms. Whatever would ease his mind, she was willing to do. For now.

Ian had been anxious to get out of Glasgow, and as soon as the doctor he’d hired during her illness deemed her healthy enough for travel, they’d left for Gallifrey. Rose was sorry to say goodbye to her friends and family, but promised they’d be back soon to visit. Ian had just pursed his lips when she’d made those assurances. He was still convinced that Glasgow was a dangerous place for Rose and wasn’t champing at the bit to return anytime soon. She suspected they’d have a showdown over the topic sometime in the not-too-distant future, possibly at the time of Donna’s baby’s birth, but didn’t argue with him yet. 

The trip back to Gallifrey had been uneventful. Ian cuddled her close and she dozed in his arms - quite a bit different than their trip _into_ town had been, when he’d ravished her in the coach. She thought of trying to pique his interest, but he’d seemed tense and withdrawn. When she’d asked about it, he’d simply said he was anxious to get back to Gallifrey, where he could more easily assure her safety. It had taken an effort not to roll her eyes, but she’d managed it. She’d just kissed him and snuggled closer, instead. 

Back at Gallifrey, things had mostly gone back to normal, except now, Nardole was her constant companion when Ian was working. He wasn’t overbearing or pushy, just a near-silent presence while she went about her business. She tried not to complain about it, knowing that having Nardole there with her set Ian’s mind at ease, but she couldn’t help but feel a little constrained by the other man’s presence. She hoped Ian would relax his precautions sooner rather than later, but for the time being, she was willing to go along with what he wanted. 

She reclined now in the large bathtub that had been brought to her room, lazily soaking, enjoying the peaceful moment. Clara bustled around on the other side of the screen, and although Rose wasn’t alone, it was quiet and private. It felt like a return to normalcy after the bedlam that had happened in Glasgow. She sighed in the warm, scented water, watching the way it rippled against the sides of the tub with her small movements. 

“Penny for ‘em,” Clara said. 

Rose took a second to gather her thoughts, trying to figure out how to best articulate what was on her mind. It was a delicate subject, for sure, but if there was anyone she could confide in, it was Clara. Besides Ian, she was the only person Rose could be completely open with. She decided to be frank. 

“I’m thinking back to the time just after I married, when all I wanted was for Ian to touch me and kiss me, but he wouldn’t.”

“Why are you thinking about that?”

“Because I’m back in the same situation again. I desperately want my husband’s attention, yet he refuses to give it.”

In her mind’s eye, she could see Clara’s raised eyebrow. “He won’t?”

“No,” she sulked. “I mean, he’ll kiss me and he holds me every night to go to sleep, but I want… more. I want him to _touch_ me. Yet he treats me like spun glass.”

“Rose, I feel like I shouldn’t have to remind you how deathly ill you were.”

“I know it.”

“He’s just worried about you.”

She sighed. “I know. But hasn’t it been long enough? It’s been _weeks_ since I was ill, Clara.”

“Have you told him you crave intimacy with him?”

“Not in so many words, but I’ve tried to hint to him what I want. Every time I’ve tried to initiate an encounter, he kisses me firmly and tells me I’m not quite well enough. But I _am_ well enough. I feel as well as I ever have.”

Clara came around the screen with a large towel in her hands, spread, signalling to Rose that it was time to get out of the bath. She sighed, but got to her feet and stepped out, wrapping herself gratefully in the warm towel. 

“I think you should tell him,” Clara said. “Be direct - no more coy flirting. Let him know you’re interested in being intimate again.”

“It won’t work,” Rose pouted. “He’ll just rebuff me again.”

The maid’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve had an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you don’t think telling him will work, tempt him.”

“Tempt him? How?”

Clara turned her back without a word and went to the chest of drawers. Rose assumed Clara was just getting a night rail and continued to dry herself. But when Clara returned, she was holding a paper-wrapped package and smirking.

“What have you got there?”

“Temptation, in satin form.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “What?”

“Your lingerie, Rose, from your wedding night. Didn’t you tell me that His Grace said that saying no to you that night was the hardest thing he’d ever done?”

Rose stared at the little package, a smile beginning, then spreading across her face. He _had_ told her exactly that. He’d said that he’d never wanted to make love to someone more in his life than he had that night, that the sight of her had driven him nearly mad with desire. If she wore the lingerie, he likely wouldn’t be able to resist. But there was always a chance…

She took the package, still smiling at Clara. “If he turns me down this time, well, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Clara’s eyes twinkled. “I doubt he will. Now, hurry! Let’s get it on you. It’s nearly ten, and he’ll be here any minute.”

~*~O~*~

Ian downed the last of his scotch and set the tumbler on the sideboard, then left his study and headed for his bedroom. Rose had insisted that she needed to take a bath tonight instead of coming to the library with him, and although he certainly didn’t begrudge her a bath, he wished she’d do it while he was at work, so he didn’t miss time with her. Of course, he had to allow that she wouldn’t have as much opportunity as usual lately. He was only working half his usual amount, in favor of sticking close to home and making sure she was safe.

Some of the desperate panic he’d felt in Glasgow had subsided now that they were home and surrounded by people he trusted, but he still worried nearly constantly about her safety. It was going to be a long while before he didn’t. It frustrated Rose, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing her pale and drawn on the bed, violently ill and delirious, had frightened him more than he’d ever been frightened in his life. It was going to take years for him to fully recover from what he’d gone through while she was at death’s door, and even decades from now, he was sure that the memory of how close he’d come to losing her would haunt him. 

Rose seemed to be back to her old self, and although he didn’t doubt that she was feeling much better, he was still cautious. She had a tendency to push herself in an attempt to ease his mind, and he felt quite sure that she had been pushing herself in her recovery to soothe him. If she overexerted herself, she could relapse. That was a remote possibility, but still a possibility. 

He arrived at the door to his bedroom just as Clara was letting herself out. Good. That meant Rose would be ready for bed. He hadn’t permitted himself to make love to her since she’d been shot over a month ago, and he was near to losing his mind with want. He’d taken himself in hand an embarrassing number of times over the last couple of weeks, and he suspected he’d have to do so again tonight after she fell asleep. Holding her close while holding himself apart from her was torturous at any time. But when she was soft and sweet-smelling after a bath… 

His cock twitched in his pants and he sighed a little. He’d hold her tonight until she fell asleep, then sneak out of bed and wank to alleviate the pressure. 

Clara gave him a proper little curtsey, but she was smirking. Ian didn’t wonder about that for long, as it wasn’t all that unusual an occurrence. Probably some private joke between her and Rose. Like most old friends, they had scads of inside stories and jokes that Ian wasn’t privy to. 

He gave the maid a short nod, then dismissed her from his mind when she left. The door to his chamber swung open with a push of his hand, and he went inside. 

The fire was burning in the grate and the sweet smell of Rose’s bath oils lingered in the air, but he didn’t see her at first glance. She wasn’t at her vanity and she wasn’t in the bed. Where was she?

“Sweetheart?” he said aloud, stepping further into the room. A movement from beside the hearth caught his attention and he turned to look at her as she got to her feet, his eyes wide and shocked when he caught sight of her. 

She was wearing the negligee she’d worn on their wedding night, but by some miracle, it was even more mind-blowingly sexy than he remembered. The ivory satin almost glistened in the firelight, and clung to her curves perfectly. The front of the nightie dipped low, revealing an indecent amount of cleavage and - God help him - her hard nipples made points under the fabric. Her smile was seductive, welcoming, and knowing, and his cock was like iron in an instant. 

Rose took a step towards him, her hips swaying like the open ocean. “Are you looking for me, handsome?” she asked, her tongue between her teeth. 

He gaped at her, his mouth opening uselessly, unable to speak. His reaction just emboldened her further and her eyes twinkled as she crossed the room to him. 

“Cat got your tongue, Ian?” She tutted. “Too bad. I had grand plans for it.”

He finally regained his ability for speech, and although he didn’t know what to say - his brain was static - he spoke. “Sweetheart…”

Rose held up a hand. “Stop. Stop right there. I don’t want any more excuses or denials. I’m as healthy as I’ve ever been and you’ve kept me at arm’s length since Christmas. That’s over a month. I’m tired of waiting and I want you to take me. Now.”

Ian’s hands flexed around nothing, aching to touch her. How could he possibly refuse her? He wanted her so badly he could _taste_ it, and licked his lips instinctively. 

Something about that signaled victory to Rose, and her eyes gleamed. She took a couple more swaying steps towards him, closing the gap, her hands coming to rest on his chest over his pounding heart. 

“Know what I want, handsome?”

“Wh- what?”

“I want you to take me to that bed right there - our bed - and kiss me all over. I want you to touch every inch of my body.” Ian swallowed hard and she batted her eyes up at him alluringly. “It’s all yours, after all. _I’m_ all yours. You can do whatever you want to me. Anything at all.”

“Anything?” he choked out, his control hanging by the thinnest of threads. 

“Anything,” she confirmed, looking up at him from below her lashes. She bit her lip on a smile for a second, as if debating with herself, then went on tiptoe. “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, then pressed a soft kiss to his neck. 

Ian broke, grabbing her face to hold it still and kissing her desperately. She pressed her body against his, her hand between them to cup and stroke his _throbbing_ erection. He moaned into her mouth from the little bit of friction, and were he able to think, he’d have been tearing his clothes off. She only stroked him for a second, though, before she put a little space between their bodies and went to work untying his cravat and unbuttoning his shirt. Ian’s hands roamed her, as well, squeezing her breast firmly then tweaking the nipple through the thin fabric, clutching her bum urgently and grinding his cock against her abdomen. She smiled into his kiss, and he broke away, panting for air. Rose put her mouth to work kissing, licking, and sucking the bare skin of his chest she’d uncovered while her hands still worked to undress him. He gripped her shoulders, his head thrown back, soaking up the feeling of her mouth on him. He was wound tight, so tight, and knew that once he was buried in her heat, it wouldn’t be long before he exploded inside her. 

“Rose,” he croaked, not entirely sure what he was about to say, just needing to feel her name on his lips. 

She didn’t slow down in her undressing of him, just reached up to his shoulders and pushed his shirt off, forcing him to relinquish his hold on her for a moment. When she tossed his shirt to the side, he reclaimed her mouth, his tongue exploring the territory it already knew so well. As they kissed, she unbuttoned his trousers with nimble fingers then, when they were open, shoved her hand down into his pants to grip him. Ian cried out inarticulately, and Rose gave a dark chuckle. 

“What’s the matter, Ian? Don’t tell me you don’t like when I stroke your cock…”

Oh, he liked it, alright. He fucking _loved_ it, loved it so much, in fact, that if she did much more, he was going to come all over her pretty little hand. 

Deciding she’d taken the lead quite enough for one evening, he set to work getting himself naked, toeing off his shoes and shoving his trousers and pants down, stepping out of them. Rose stroked him through it all, her eyes gleaming victoriously. When he was bare, he gently knocked her hand away from his cock, then kissed her to soften the blow. He bent down and scooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. 

“Impatient, handsome?” she teased, tracing her finger along the shell of his ear with a smile. 

“Very,” he replied, then lay her on the bed. She slid her skimpy dressing gown off her shoulders, revealing more of herself and the negligee to him, and he pulled the dressing gown from under her and tossed it away. 

“Do you have any idea,” he began, coming to hover over her with eyes blazing, pressing kisses to the skin of her chest, “how the memory of you in this little thing _haunted_ me?”

Her fingers curled through his hair and she arched her back when he pulled down the front of the negligee to bare her breast, then took the nipple into her mouth. He suckled her greedily, like a man starving for her taste, and she panted and gasped under his attentions. 

“Tell me,” she finally demanded. 

“I thought about the way you looked that night all the time, Rose,” he admitted between licks and sucks to her breast. “Every moment of every day. I dreamed about you wearing this naughty little garment, and what I’d do to you if I ever got the chance again.”

“What - oooh - what would you do?”

He grinned around her nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue, then released it and looked up at her. “Why don’t I show you?”

She nodded down at him, her eyes wide, and he gave her a positively filthy smile. Without any more words, he raised up onto his knees, grabbed the front of the garment over her breasts, and tore it open, leaving her naked before him, lying on the tattered remains.

“Ian!” she gasped. “That was expensive!”

He lowered himself to press kisses to her bare skin, making promises. “I’ll buy you a dozen of them, sweetheart, in any colors you like, just for the pleasure of tearing them off you.”

She undulated under his kisses and roaming hands, sucking in a breath when he found her nipple again. “Is that all you wanted to do?”

“No,” he said, after he released her nipple with a pop. “That’s not all. I wanted to educate you.”

“Educate me?”

“Yes, educate you.” He trailed his tongue down her ribs, across her belly, around her belly button, then lower. Rose gasped when he didn’t stop. 

“Shall we begin the first lesson, Your Grace?” he asked with a wicked twinkle in his eye. But before Rose could say a word, he’d covered her with his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to tell you guys when I post...
> 
> This story is FINISHED! There will be 35 chapters and a short epilogue. Hang in there, we’re almost at the end of this tale!


	32. Chapter 32

14 April, 1824

Life had been quiet for Ian and Rose since their return to Gallifrey, and they’d quickly settled into a routine not unlike the one they’d established before they’d traveled to Glasgow in December. They had breakfast together every morning, then Ian left for Gallifrey Town to tend to patients or to work with Ianto, running the estate. In truth, the duchy practically ran itself, and he was not always needed, but he still stuck close to Ianto, wanting to learn everything he could and become completely competent at managing his land. Ianto didn’t seem to mind, and was very encouraging. After seven months of working with the land agent, Ian felt more capable, but he knew he still had much to learn. During spring planting, he’d neglected the medical practice a bit, but once the seeds were in the earth and starting to sprout, there had been little for him to do, so he’d returned to Gallifrey Town to practice medicine. 

In the evenings, he came home to Rose, and his heart swelled with joy and love every time he saw her. Being somewhat confined to the manor by the weather (as well as Ian’s anxiety), she’d started spending a great deal of time drawing and painting. It wasn’t at all uncommon to see her with charcoal-smudged fingers or a paint-speckled dress, but he found her new hobby (and the messy state it got her into) endearing. She wouldn’t let him see her art, shyly declaring it unfit to be viewed, but Clara and Nardole had seen what she’d done and assured him all her works were quite lovely. He hoped in time she’d let him see for himself, but was willing to wait until she was more comfortable. Whatever she needed. 

Slowly, so slowly, he’d relaxed the panicked restrictions he’d put in place around Rose in Glasgow. It helped that the Scottish winter was disagreeable to her English constitution and she preferred not to venture out into the cold. However, the real reason he was able to relax somewhat was that months had passed since Rose had taken ill in Glasgow, and there had been no further attempts on her life. 

Rose was almost smug about the fact nothing had happened, saying she’d known all along that the accidents were just that - accidents - and as more and more time passed without any danger to his wife, Ian began to wonder if maybe she was right. Maybe he’d seen bogeymen where there were nothing but shadows, and he should dismiss everything that happened in Glasgow as a simple run of bad luck. Perhaps, he thought, no one had been out to get Rose after all, and he’d just been paranoid. It was possible, he conceded finally, and when he did, Rose had crowed. 

He wasn’t entirely at ease, though, and told her so. There was still that niggling suspicion that he couldn’t shake, but it was enough to relax his guard while they were at home, at Gallifrey. He knew that Rose was quietly itching to go back to Glasgow, though, for the birth of Donna’s baby, and as much as part of him wanted to go, too, he couldn’t shake the fear that came along with that idea. She’d eventually ask to go and he’d capitulate to her wishes as he always did, but he hoped his wife was prepared for him to put the restrictions back on her while they were in the city.

~*~O~*~

The weather started to warm in mid-March, and Rose stopped complaining about the cold so much. One Sunday morning, as soon as the snow was gone and the ground was dry, he’d suggested that maybe they should put on their riding clothes and head out into the duchy. Rose had agreed readily, eager for fresh air, and the two of them had set out on Tardis and Idris to explore a bit. Ian had had an ulterior motive, though, which Rose discovered when he took her to a clearing in the woods and seduced her, making love to her on the forest floor with nature surrounding them. She’d hardly objected, and they’d returned to the clearing to make love for the next three Sundays. 

That’s where they were now, snuggled together on the blanket he’d brought, surrounded by budding trees as their pulses and respirations returned to normal. They were both quite disheveled, his trousers lowered and her riding habit raised, both of their chests bare to the elements after being kissed and stroked by each other. The weather was still cool, but the warm sunshine and their arms around each other kept them from feeling cold. Ian traced his fingers up and down Rose’s bare shoulder, staring up at the sky. She sighed contentedly and nuzzled closer, slipping her leg between his, and he smiled to himself. 

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

He felt her cheek tighten into a smile on his shoulder. “I’m wondering what it says about my husband that he enjoys tumbling his wife in the middle of the forest while the horses and woodland creatures watch.”

Ian laughed heartily, then raised his head to give her a cheeky grin. “Are you so opposed to becoming one with nature?”

“Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“We can call it that, if you like.”

She giggled. “No, I’m not opposed at all. Although Clara is beginning to complain about grass stains on my clothing and twigs in my hair.”

“Well, we shall have to be more careful not to stain your clothing. Perhaps you should simply take it all off?” he teased. 

Rose snorted. “As if you’d be able - or willing - to wait that long. No, when the idea strikes you, you’re quite impossible to dissuade.”

It was Ian’s turn to snort. “Not like you’ve ever tried to dissuade me.”

Her eyes twinkled naughtily up at him, and that was all the concession he needed. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then lay his head back on his free arm, looking up at the canopy of trees and basking in the moment. It was so perfect, he thought, this life with Rose. And he’d come so close to missing it. If he had delayed even one day in answering his sister’s call to come home…

No. It hadn’t happened, so it wasn’t worth thinking about. His life was just as it was meant to be, and he was the happiest man in the world. 

He noted clouds gathering, and knitted his brow a little. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze then sitting up gently, displacing her. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, sitting up and covering herself. 

“Back to the manor. There are clouds gathering to the west and storms can form quickly in the spring and summer. We’d be best off to cut our day short and head back to the house.”

Rose shrugged amicably and did up her buttons. Within minutes, she was patting her hair into place and looked like she’d just stepped out of their bedroom, ready to go on an adventure. He couldn’t help but kiss her, so he did. 

“Let’s get to safety before the sky opens up on us,” he suggested, leading her back to her horse. 

She let him help her onto Idris’ back and he waited a moment while she settled into the saddle. Once she was secure, he went to Tardis and mounted. “You ready?” he asked her with a smile. 

Rose nodded, returning his happy look. “Let’s go.”

They led the horses out of the clearing and back to the path through the forest. As soon as the path widened enough that they were able to ride side-by-side, Rose brought Idris up to Ian’s right flank, and they were able to chat as they rode. 

“You know...” Rose said. 

He sensed something in her tone which put him on guard, but tried not to let on. “Yes?” he answered casually. 

“It’s mid-April.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Donna is due to have her baby any day now.”

“I’m aware.”

“I want to be there,” she stated baldly. “I feel like we should be there.”

“I know.”

She brightened. “So we can go?”

He sighed. “I suppose.” 

Rose squealed and bounced in her saddle a bit, making him smile. “Oh, thank you! She’ll be so excited, and Osgood will, too. I’ll write them as soon as we get home.”

“She’s _my_ sister,” he pointed out. 

Rose ignored him. “We can leave Tuesday, the day after tomorrow, and stay in Glasgow until the baby is a few weeks old. Will Ianto be alright without you for that long?”

“I expect so. But Rose, I haven’t forgotten the horrible things that happened last time we were in Glasgow. I’m going to be insisting on the same safety measures in place when we go into town this time. Alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re being over-cautious. Nothing has happened in months.”

“Nonetheless, I’d feel better if you didn’t go out without Nardole and myself. And I’ll be --”

There was the crack of a gunshot from somewhere to his right, and before he could react, both horses had reared. Ian just barely managed to stay mounted and keep Tardis from running scared, but his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Idris galloping away - without Rose in the saddle. 

He turned and shouted for her, trying to control a frightened Tardis, then spotted her lying supine on the ground with her eyes wide as she gasped for breath. In an instant, he was on the ground beside her. 

“Sweetheart? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, still gulping for air. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight just for a second, his eyes frantically looking around to see where the shot had come from. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but that didn’t soothe him at all. Like lightning, he debated his options, then came to a decision. He helped Rose to her feet as quickly as he could, being ginger with her in case she was injured. He led her over to Tardis as gently but swiftly as possible, determined to get her out of danger. He’d just gotten her into the saddle and was raising his leg to clamber on behind her when a second shot rang out. Over the sound of Rose’s scream, he heard the bullet whiz by over his head, and he didn’t hesitate another moment before he threw himself into the saddle behind Rose and spurred Tardis to take off at an all-out run.

~*~O~*~

His heart rate had not slowed down much half an hour later in his bedroom, waiting for Dr. Sullivan to come examine Rose. She was quiet, subdued and pale, and hadn’t objected at all when he’d carried her to the bed, deposited her, and told her to stay put. She hadn’t been hit with a bullet, thank God, but he worried a little about shock. He was in no mental or emotional state to do a proper exam, so he’d sent for Dr. Sullivan as soon as he’d walked in the door to the manor. Rose’s meek demeanor worried him, but he couldn’t dwell on that right now. His mind was whirling. 

Someone was trying to kill Rose. The sliver of doubt that time and his wife’s insistence had instilled in him was now gone. It was no longer possible that this was all one long series of accidents. She’d been shot at three times and poisoned once. What was next? Who was behind it? Most of all, how could he protect her?

“I’m alright, you know,” she said quietly from the bed, her soft voice breaking into his thoughts. “I’m a bit sore, but not really injured.”

“Do you object to me sending for Dr. Sullivan?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good, because I need him to check you, for my own peace of mind.”

“Of course,” she demurred, then went silent, looking down at her hands and picking her fingernails a bit. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he couldn’t make himself sit down. Nervous energy coursed through his veins and required him to pace. 

“You were right,” she said in an equally soft tone, stopping him in his tracks.

“What?”

Her eyes were still glued to her fingernails. “You were right all along, it seems. Someone _was_ trying to kill me.”

She sounded so small, so broken, that his anxiety was pushed to the side in favor of the need to comfort her. He went to her, gingerly gathering her into his arms, and pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“I wish to Christ I’d been wrong,” he murmured, holding her close. She shook in his arms and he did his best to comfort her. “I don’t know why this is happening, sweetheart, but I intend to protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you, not while there’s breath in my body. And if I have to chain you to my side until we find out who’s at the bottom of this, that’s what we’ll do. But we’ll find out who’s behind this, Rose. Don’t worry.”

“I’m scared,” she confessed in a weak voice, and his heart melted. 

“I am, too,” he admitted, his lips pressed against the top of her head. “I am, too, sweetheart.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Rose took a deep breath, as if preparing to speak. Before she could, there was a sharp knock at the door that made both of them jump, startled. 

“It’s just Dr. Sullivan, sweetheart,” he soothed her. 

Rose nodded and he got to his feet, kissing her forehead and going to the door to open it. Harry Sullivan stood there, looking grim, and Ian welcomed him into the bedroom with a handshake. 

“Dr. Sullivan.”

“Your Grace. Another accident?”

Ian’s eyes darkened malevolently. “This was no accident. We were shot at. Twice.”

Dr. Sullivan’s eyes widened. “I was told Her Grace fell off her horse.”

“She did, when the horse spooked after the first shot. She landed on her back. I think she’s alright, but I’m in no mental state to check her, myself.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t be. Are _you_ alright?”

“I’m fine. Will you examine Rose?”

“Of course,” Dr. Sullivan said, and started towards the bed where Rose was waiting. 

Ian did his best not to hover while his colleague examined Rose, contenting himself to go back to pacing by the bed and gnawing a thumbnail. He felt a flash of jealousy when Rose was asked to display her bare back to Dr. Sullivan so he could examine her - he knew, of course, that Dr. Sullivan’s interest in his wife was purely clinical and there was nothing untoward in his actions. Ian himself had examined countless women in his twenty years of medical practice, and had seen more skin than was proper on nearly all of them. But there was nothing sexual about anything he did when he was working, and he knew that Dr. Sullivan was a professional who didn’t see his wife as a woman, merely as a patient. Still, having his wife looked at and examined by another man was not pleasant, and he gritted his teeth a bit.

“You’re going to have some bruising here,” Dr. Sullivan was saying, lightly touching the side of Rose’s back. “Potentially quite extensive bruising. But I think that’s the extent of your injuries. You can cover yourself now.”

Rose, flushing brightly, hastened to do just that, covering herself modestly and going back to reclining against the pillows. Ian had been fairly sure she wasn’t seriously hurt, but still felt himself relax somewhat at Dr. Sullivan’s pronouncement. Dr. Sullivan stood, going to the foot of the bed to replace his instruments in his bag, and Ian rushed to take his place by Rose’s side. She reached for him and he cradled her close to himself gently, thanking God she was alright. 

“You’ll need to stay in bed for a couple of days,” Dr. Sullivan was saying as he packed his bag. “But honestly, you probably won’t want to be up doing much, with the way your back is likely to hurt. You’re going to be very sore for a while, much more sore than you are now. With injuries like this, the pain is usually worst on the second and third days. Don’t push yourself: take it easy and recuperate.”

“Yes, Dr. Sullivan,” Rose said from beside Ian. He squeezed her softly. 

“Now, if you’ll forgive me, Your Grace… is there any chance you could be expecting?”

Ian felt Rose stiffen in his arms, but she didn’t answer. Dr. Sullivan looked knowing, and Ian’s eyes widened before he turned to Rose. Her face was flaming and her head hung low.

“Sweetheart?” he prompted her, his heart in his throat.

Rose flushed darker, then gave a little nod. Ian was stunned into silence, his jaw dropped, waves of various emotions washing over him. He couldn’t sort out what he was feeling right away, could hardly hear himself think, but managed to ask a strangled question. 

“How - how long?”

“Almost two months,” she admitted quietly, her head still down.

“When were your last courses?” Dr. Sullivan asked. 

“Beginning of February,” she answered, and Ian saw a tear splash onto the hands that were writhing in her lap. “Did I… did I hurt my baby in the fall?”

“I don’t think so,” the other man said kindly. “Unless you’re having any pain or bleeding, you’re probably fine. And should have a nice little bundle of joy coming to you around November.”

A baby. A baby! Ian was still stunned, but rays of joy were starting to illuminate his clouded mind. A baby, in November!

“Given that you’re increasing,” Dr. Sullivan was saying, “I’m amending my original orders. I want you to stay in bed for a week. No excuses. I think you should be alright, but it’s better to err on the side of caution. Alright?”

Rose nodded, her head still down.

“If you have any bleeding at any time, return to bed immediately and send for me straight away. But you’re young and strong, I feel like you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan,” Rose murmured. 

Ian finally managed to close his gaping mouth and cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, Harry.”

“It’s my pleasure, Your Graces. I’ll come back to check on you tomorrow, shall I?”

“Yes. That would be good.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll leave you to your rest. Congratulations, Your Graces.”

He and Rose both murmured a ‘thank you’, and Ian watched the other doctor until he opened the door, gave a little bow, then exited, closing the door behind him. Ian stared at the closed door for a few moments, trying in vain to gather his racing thoughts. 

A soft sob from beside him shook him from his reverie. Rose was crying into her hands, her body shaking with emotion, and as crowded as his mind was, all he could think of in that moment was gathering her close and comforting her. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned, rocking her a little. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid,” she sobbed. “I had only started to gain my freedom again and I thought you’d overreact and lock me in our room or something if you knew because I thought there was no danger and it was all in your head but then we were shot at and it turns out the danger was _real_ all along and I was so stupid and _oh God, I could have killed our baby_ ,” she ended on a wail. Ian gently pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, her head tucked under his chin, shushing and soothing her. 

“It’s alright, Rose. The baby is safe and protected, snuggled in your womb. Nothing is going to happen to him. I won’t let it,” he told her, praying fervently he was telling the truth. The fog in his brain cleared a little more and the reality of their situation began to set in. Rose was pregnant. He was going to be a father. He was going to be a father!

Unbidden, a little laugh bubbled out of him. It was just so amazing. A baby!

Rose snuffled in his lap and raised her head to look at him with red, puffy, watery eyes. “You’re not cross?”

“Sweetheart, I feel so many things right now, it would take months to sort it all out, but above everything, I’m ecstatic. Simply overwhelmed with love and joy. I wish you had told me, and I’m sorry you didn’t. I never would have let you on horseback if I had known, but that’s in the past. I’m overjoyed, Rose,” he told her with a beaming smile. “My heart is so full of love for you and this baby I don’t know if I can stand it.”

“But someone is trying to hurt me! What if they --”

He cut her off by kissing her into silence. However she’d intended to finish that statement, he didn’t want to hear it. Fear galloped through his mind, dimming his joy slightly, and he wrestled with it. Rose was frightened enough. Adding to her fear wouldn’t be healthy for her or the baby. 

The baby!

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to worry about that. I’m going to find out who has been trying to hurt you and make them stop. You and our baby will be safe, I swear. But until I find them, I’m going to be forced to confine you to the house. I don’t see any other choice. I hope you understand.”

She nodded, sniffling. “I understand.”

Ian sighed in relief and cradled her closer. Rose quieted in his arms, and he did his best to relax. One hand went to cover her belly, over the place where his baby slept, and he sighed again, a deep feeling of contentment washing over him - despite being somewhat soured by the specter of someone wishing to harm his wife. 

“Are you well?” he asked gently, rubbing a little circle over her still-flat abdomen. “Some women complain of sickness in early pregnancy.”

She shook her head. “I’ve felt fine, just more tired than usual. I’ve been napping when you’re not around. Clara has been covering for me.”

“Clara knows?”

Rose nodded. “She was the one to notice that my courses were late in March. She’s happy, too, but has been harping on me to tell you.”

“I wish you had,” he admitted. “I would have had this joy weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.

Ian raised her chin to look up at him and smiled. “Don’t be sorry, precious girl. Just promise me you’ll let me keep you and this little one safe until we catch the bastard that’s after you.”

She nodded, her eyes wet. “I will, I promise.”

Ian kissed her to seal the promise, then cradled her close again, making plans to find the person who was out to hurt Rose.


	33. Chapter 33

30 May 1824

The days grew longer and warmer, but although Ian had always loved spring, he was too on-edge to properly enjoy the season. He’d hired private investigators to try to find out who was out to get Rose, but so far, they’d turned up very little. It was maddening for him, and he knew Rose was bothered by the lack of news, too, although she put up a good front. She’d taken his confinement of her fairly well, with minimal complaints, although he knew she chafed at being kept in the manor. There was a bit of an emotional breakdown when word arrived from Glasgow that Donna had given birth to a healthy baby girl named Ella. Rose had wept bitterly then, terribly upset to have missed the birth, and Ian had been helpless to do anything but comfort her as best he could. After a long cry that had damn near shattered his heart, she’d asked with a wavering voice and red eyes if he would explain to his sister why they were confined to Gallifrey and ask her to visit as soon as little Ella was old enough to travel. Ian had done so, and Donna had replied within days that of course Rose had to stay right where she was, but she and Lee would be happy to come visit when Ella was a few weeks old. Donna’s promise to visit had given Rose something to look forward to, and Ian was deeply grateful. 

Rose herself was just shy of four months along in her pregnancy, and Ian was basking in the changes that brought on. She fairly glowed, even in the current undesirable circumstances, and somehow, she’d grown even more impossibly beautiful to him. Her body was changing - not enough to be apparent to the casual observer, but Ian noticed in the privacy of their bedroom and revelled in the changes. He’d always been told that some women’s libidos increased during pregnancy, particularly during the middle months, but it was a revelation to live that change in Rose. She was more sensitive to his touch, especially in her erogenous zones, and the simplest caress from him had the ability to make her wild. Her breasts, already perfect before pregnancy, were more full and pert, and Ian spent a great deal of time worshiping them, much to her delight. Her skin was somehow softer and more radiant, and he gloried in touching her, caressing her. Being with Rose had always been a wonderland of sensual delight, but as her body changed, it was somehow enhanced and Ian thought he’d simply die from the joy of it. 

But the best thing, Ian thought, was the slight roundness to her belly that had only appeared in the last few weeks. When he and Rose would retire to bed, after the lovemaking, he’d put his hand over the swell of her stomach and talk to the baby, explaining who he was, who Rose was, telling the baby how much he was already loved. Occasionally, Ian would sing a lullaby, finishing with a sweet kiss to her belly and a declaration of love from him. Rose teased him that he was spoiling their child already, but Ian just smiled. The two of them playfully butted heads about the baby’s gender, Rose insisting she was carrying a daughter, and Ian countering that he thought it was a boy. In truth, Ian genuinely didn’t care about the baby’s sex, all he really cared about was that at the end of November, he’d have a healthy wife and child. That said, it was fun to spar with Rose about what they were getting, and Rose seemed to enjoy the light bickering, too, so he didn’t see the point in stopping.

They’d discussed names just a little, but nothing had been decided. Ian favored naming the baby after a family member, particularly if it were a boy, but Rose recoiled from the idea of naming their son Irving or Braxatiel, after his brother, or Sidney, after his father. Ian couldn’t blame her, really, but enjoyed the banter. 

Despite the fact that they hadn’t confirmed her pregnancy to the servants and were intending to keep it quiet until it was obvious she was increasing, it was still widely known amongst the delighted staff. It was also common knowledge that someone was trying to hurt her. The servants, led by Nardole and Clara, had closed ranks to protect her, always making sure that someone was with her, being more attentive to her needs than usual, and treating her with even more care and deference than they normally did. Ian was more appreciative than he’d ever been for the servants who were more like family, and did his best to express his gratitude to the staff. The extra layer of protection around his sweetheart eased his mind - just a bit, but that small amount was precious and prized. 

All in all, except for the lingering danger to Rose, Ian’s life was perfect. It made him even more anxious to find out who was out to get her - and to put a stop to them by any means necessary. 

He was in his study, going over some correspondence, when Strax appeared to tell him that Wallace, the lead investigator of the investigative firm he’d hired, had arrived to give report. 

“May I take him to the dungeons and test his mettle?” Strax asked hopefully. 

“Not this time, Strax. Please show him in.”

The butler left, but returned a few moments later with an older man, short and lean, with a determined jaw. Ian got to his feet when the man entered his study and rounded the desk to greet him. 

“Wallace. Good to see you. I hope you have good news for me.”

Wallace bowed while Strax closed the door. “I hope you’ll find it good, Your Grace.”

Feeling a thrill at the prospect of good news, Ian fought down a smile. “Scotch?” he offered. 

“Please.”

He went to the credenza and poured two glasses of scotch, then took one to the steel-haired investigator. “Please,” he said with his hand extended toward the chair. “Have a seat.”

Wallace did as instructed, and Ian took his seat behind the desk. He swallowed a sip of scotch to steady his nerves, then began. “What do you have for me?”

“First, the bad news. We’re no closer on the matter of the poison. After a thorough investigation of all the apothecaries in Glasgow, we’re forced to conclude that no one there sold the perpetrator any substances that would have caused the described symptoms. We’re widening the search to include the surrounding towns, but none of us are terribly hopeful that we’ll find anything. My belief is that this poison was crafted by someone in the comforts of their own kitchen, and we’ll never figure out that particular mystery.”

Ian clenched his fist in frustration, but tried not to let on. “Well, that’s terribly disheartening,” he fairly muttered. “What about the shootings?”

“We have a general description of someone from that day in Glasgow. Witnesses describe seeing a blond man of middling height, stocky of build with light eyes, either blue or green. He was spotted behind the stables, in the area that most witnesses described the shot as having come from, and he was seen leaving the scene quickly in the immediate aftermath of the shooting.” Wallace leaned forward a little, and Ian mirrored his actions. “Someone matching that description was spotted in Gallifrey Town the day before the shooting in the woods. We suspect it’s the same man.”

Ian nodded. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was something. Anything was better than nothing, he supposed, although he couldn’t help his exasperation that there wasn’t more progress. 

“Very good,” he said with a nod. “I assume you’re pursuing that aggressively?”

“Quite. But there’s more, Your Grace.”

Ian raised one eyebrow. “Go on…”

“In the course of our investigation, we took a closer look at everyone who had spent time at the manor since your marriage. We found something interesting about one of the employees of the moving company.”

“The moving company?”

“Yes, the company you hired out of Glasgow last fall during the renovations Your Graces made to the estate.”

Ian leaned forward a bit, his heart rate increasing. “Go on…”

“It seems that one of the movers was acting somewhat suspiciously while the company was employed here. According to his coworkers, he seemed excited for this particular job and requested to be sent here, although he’d never showed any real enthusiasm for any particular jobs before. He apparently inquired often about Her Grace, and his colleagues noticed that he seemed to have more money than usual. He was suddenly very generous at the pub after hours, buying rounds of pints and toasting his mysterious good fortune. Some of his colleagues assumed he’d been pilfering silver from Gallifrey, but nothing seemed to be coming up missing.”

Ian shook his head. “No, nothing went missing during that time.”

“Most of his coworkers just blew off the odd behavior, but they all report that he quit suddenly, immediately after the couch fell on Her Grace. We now suspect foul play in that incident.”

Ian sat up, ramrod straight, his mind racing. He’d never considered for a moment that the incident with the couch had been anything other than an accident. But if this were true, not only had Rose’s life been in danger for longer than he’d thought, her would-be murderer had spent time within the walls of his home. He’d been close to Rose! Ian’s blood ran cold. 

“What was his name?” he demanded in a cold voice. 

“John Bailey,” Wallace answered at once. “But there’s more.”

“Tell me you know where this bastard is,” Ian implored the investigator. 

“We have an idea. In January, he and his wife, Jeanette, picked up and moved suddenly from Glasgow, leaving no forwarding address. But it seems Mrs. Bailey has been corresponding with friends back home. According to her friends, she won’t reveal exactly where they’ve been living, but the letters have all been postmarked from London.”

Ian deflated a little. London was so far away… and so vastly huge. It would make investigating this John Bailey difficult under the best of circumstances. But the fact that they had a suspect at all was promising. Then a thought occurred to him. 

“Out of curiosity,” he asked, “what is Mr. Bailey’s physical description?”

Wallace’s eyes glowed. “Blond and stocky, with light eyes.”

Ian slammed his fist on the desk in something like triumph. “We’ve got him.”

“We think so,” Wallace agreed. “It seems that the shooter in both incidents is the mover, John Bailey. Now we only have to find him.”

It was hope. Bright, shining hope. Perhaps this long nightmare was going to come to an end in the not-too-distant future, and he’d be able to breathe easily again. He couldn’t wait to tell Rose. 

“Do we have any idea about a motive?”

“No,” Wallace answered. “But it seems clear that Bailey isn’t the mastermind, that he’s merely a paid henchman. There’s no way of knowing at this time who the man pulling the strings may be or why he targeted Her Grace, but when we find Bailey, he’ll tell us.”

“You sound certain of that.”

Wallace’s eyes twinkled malevolently. “We have ways of making him talk. Leave that to us, Your Grace.”

Ian was a non-violent man, had devoted his life to keeping people healthy and safe, but all he could do in the face of this knowledge was nod grimly. Whatever it took, however barbaric the method may be. He could turn a blind eye. Anything to keep Rose safe.

“Very good,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Wallace said with a shake of his head. “We will be in touch, of course, and the moment we have Bailey in custody, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes,” Ian said, getting to his feet. “See that you do.” He extended his hand to the investigator. “Well done, Wallace. I’m counting on you to keep up the good work.”

“We’ll catch the bastard, Your Grace, and you’ll be able to rest easier.”

“I certainly will,” he agreed, shaking Wallace’s hand. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Wallace bowed low, then showed himself out of the study. Ian’s eyes were unfocused as he watched the door close, his mind whirling. They were so close, yet the resolution to this nightmare seemed so far away, at the same time. The uncertainty was hell to live with, but now there was a bit of hope. More than a bit. This really, truly might all be over soon. He couldn’t wait to tell Rose. 

With that thought in mind, he left his study to find her and escort her to dinner, where he would have the very great pleasure of easing her mind a bit.

~*~O~*~

Rose was looking at him with wide eyes as he relayed the information Wallace had given him earlier.

“So it’s a conspiracy?” she asked. “Someone is paying a mercenary to have me killed?”

“It seems so, although I think ‘mercenary’ is a bit generous. He can’t seem to get it right, thank God. But yes, it looks like a conspiracy. Otherwise, Bailey wouldn’t have any motive. Plus, his colleagues at the moving company testified that he’d been more generous and free with his money. Besides that, uprooting a family and moving to another country takes a considerable amount of money. I’m sure it cost you quite a bit to move to Scotland.”

“It did,” she confirmed. 

“A simple mover wouldn’t have had that kind of scratch. They had to have been bankrolled by someone.”

“That’s… disconcerting,” she said, looking disturbed. “Who could possibly want to get rid of _me_ so badly? What would they gain?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured her, covering her hand with his. “They won’t be successful. Mr. Wallace seemed to think it was only a matter of time --”

He was cut off by a clearing of the throat from the doorway. Strax stood there, looking a little more excited than usual. 

“Yes, Strax?”

“You have a visitor, Your Grace. He claims to be from London and to have information about the attacks against Her Grace.”

Ian and Rose exchanged a startled look. 

“What’s his name?” Rose asked. 

“He wouldn’t say, Your Grace.” He turned to Ian. “May I see if the stable master will loan me the bullwhip? Perhaps if I beat it out of him…”

“No need, Strax,” Ian said, getting to his feet, laying his napkin beside his plate. “I’ll see to him.”

“Ian,” Rose started, reaching for him, her eyes worried. 

He took her hand and squeezed. “You stay here and finish your meal, sweetheart. I’ll tend to this.”

“But what if he --”

“It’s fine,” he reassured her with a smile he didn’t feel. “Eat. You’ll need your strength later.” He winked, hoping to ease her mind, but she didn’t flush as she usually did. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Just… be careful.”

“Always,” he promised, then bent to kiss her quickly before leaving to follow Strax. 

The butler led Ian to his study, where the guest had been put to wait. Ian paused for a moment outside the door, looking in at the man standing by the fireplace, and said to Strax in a low voice, “Go find Nardole and have him come wait outside this room. You come and wait with him.”

Strax gave a bow. “Yes, Your Grace.”

When the brown-skinned man was gone, Ian took a deep breath and stepped into his study. The stranger turned to look at Ian when he heard footsteps. He was tall and somewhat reedy, with dark hair and eyes. He was well-dressed and well-groomed in expensive travel clothing, so Ian assumed he was likely to be a member of the gentry. He looked to be younger than Ian by about a decade, possibly more, and was fairly good-looking - the kind of bloke that young ladies may have swooned over. On the whole, he looked to be just a man, albeit extremely nervous with a knitted brow and worried eyes, but something didn’t sit right with Ian, and he was instantly on high alert. 

“Ian Docherty? Duke of Gallifrey?”

“Who’s asking?”

The young man hesitated for just a moment, then started speaking, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously. “You don’t know me, but I come as a friend. I’m the Viscount of Rydon, and I’ve traveled from London to speak with you.”

“You didn’t think a letter would be more convenient?”

“What I have to say to you isn’t appropriate for a letter.”

Ian raised an eyebrow, feeling his pulse spike. “My man said you had information about who has been trying to harm my wife. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I know everything about the plot to kill Rose.”

Ian’s hackles raised further. “The proper address for my wife is ‘Her Grace’ or ‘Duchess Gallifrey’, unless she has given you permission to use her Christian name. And given that she claims to have no friends in London, I suspect that isn’t the case.”

“I know her!” Viscount Rydon protested.

“How do you know my wife?”

The frightened lord opened his mouth to speak, then looked over Ian’s shoulder. His eyes widened and he looked almost pleased, although still frightened. 

“Rose,” he breathed. 

From behind himself, Ian heard a gasp. He whirled around to find his wife there, her hands over her mouth, face pale and eyes wide, as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Lord Stone! What on Earth are _you_ doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left!


	34. Chapter 34

Rose watched Ian leave the dining room with her nerves quite unsettled. The information he’d been given by Mr. Wallace was deeply troubling, although she did her best to remain calm to keep from upsetting Ian. The idea that someone hated her so much they’d hire a man to kill her! She tried, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything she’d ever done to anyone that might inspire that sort of hatred. It didn’t make any sense to her.

Her tension and confusion had not been helped when Strax had informed them that there was a stranger visiting from London who wouldn’t give his name and claimed to have information about the situation. She should feel relieved, she supposed, that things seemed to be coming to a head, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better. Possibly much worse. 

Suddenly fearing for Ian’s safety, Rose put her napkin to the side of her plate and got to her feet, resolved to go to him. She may not be able to do anything to protect him and he may give her the rough side of his tongue for not staying put, but she just _couldn’t_ sit there and do nothing. The waiting would drive her mad. 

She made her way down the corridor towards Ian’s study, assuming that was where Strax would have put the stranger to wait. That hunch was confirmed when she heard Ian’s voice drifting into the corridor. He sounded terribly angry, like he was just managing to contain himself, but underneath, Rose heard something else - something else that scared her even more. He sounded afraid.

She didn’t even take time to square her shoulders before she rushed into his study, intending to go to his side. She spotted him at once: he was standing just inside the door with his back to her, tension in every line of his body, radiating from every pore. Her eyes darted around the room to find the source of his tension and landed on the stranger - except he wasn’t a stranger at all. She gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. 

“Lord Stone! What are _you_ doing here?”

Ian spun around to look at her, and his face was a question. “This is Lord Stone?”

Rose nodded. “Yes.”

She didn’t get to utter another word before Ian spun back around on his heel, crossed the room in three long strides and punched Lord Stone right in the nose.

She gasped again. “Ian!”

Her husband just stood over the now-cowering man, shaking out his fist. “ _That_ was for robbing my wife blind, you bastard!”

Rose rushed forward to grab his arm and pull him back, lest he strike out and hit Lord Stone again. He allowed himself to be pulled back, but she could still feel the coiled tension in his body as he shouted down at the bleeding man. 

“Get up! Get up and take what you have coming, you sniveling quim!”

“Ian, no!” She darted in front of him, getting in between he and Lord Stone, keeping them several feet apart. She put her hands on his chest to stop him from going around her. “Don’t, Ian. Don’t hurt him.”

“He deserves it, Rose!” Ian shouted, not looking at her, eyes dark and stormy. “Think of what he did to you!”

“If he hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here with you,” she pointed out in a low, calm voice. 

Ian looked down at her for the first time, quieting somewhat. She pressed her advantage. 

“Don’t hurt him, Ian. You’re better than that, better than _him_. He’s a criminal. Don’t stoop to his level.”

His eyes searched hers for a long moment, and she did her best to plead her case without saying a word. After a couple of pounding heartbeats, he gave a curt nod, his jaw still tense and lips pursed. Rose knew he wasn’t pleased to be stopped, but she rubbed a circle on his chest comfortingly and he let out a long breath. She stepped to his side, turning to face Lord Stone, and Ian took her hand at once. 

The injured man was clambering to his feet slowly, still wiping blood away from his damaged nose. Rose watched him in silence, her hand in Ian’s, not exactly sorry to see him in pain. She’d been telling the truth: if Lord Stone hadn’t robbed her blind, she would never have met Ian and her life wouldn’t be so wonderful, but the fact that this man had stolen so much from her still made her angry. 

“He didn’t tell me you were in love,” Lord Stone muttered almost petulantly, confusing Rose. 

“Who didn’t tell you she was in love?”

Lord Stone straightened - rather bravely, Rose thought, considering Ian’s tone and the fact he already had a broken nose. 

“Harold Saxon,” he said in a steady voice, not breaking eye contact with Ian. 

All the breath seemed to leave Rose’s body when the pieces fell into place, but Ian just sounded confused. 

“Harold Saxon? Baron of Oakdown?”

Lord Stone nodded. 

“My _cousin_?”

Lord Stone nodded again. 

“What does _he_ have to do with anything?”

The young lord took a deep breath, then began. “Last September, I returned to London from a business trip to France. I intended to marry Rose --”

“Her Grace,” Ian snarled, and Lord Stone flushed. 

“Yes, Her Grace. I’d intended to marry her as soon as I returned, but she was missing. I bribed a former member of her household to tell me where she was, and he reported that she’d moved suddenly to Glasgow. I began preparing to follow her, but on the day before I was to leave, a man came to see me.”

“Nardole,” Ian guessed. 

Lord Stone nodded. “He gave me a letter stating that Ro - Her Grace was to be married soon and if I wanted to maintain my current lifestyle, I must keep away from her. The gentleman informed me that you would not hesitate to take me to court if I made any attempt to contact her.”

“And yet you did,” Ian growled.

The younger man was not deterred. “He went on to tell me that if I attempted to interfere in any way, he’d make very, very sure I was sorry.”

“It seems you didn’t get the fucking message,“ Ian snarled.

Lord Stone raised his hands in something like surrender. “I’m not here to interfere, Your Grace. Honest.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” Rose asked. 

“Yes,” Ian agreed. “I’m well past ready for you to come to the fucking point. What does my cousin have to do with any of this?”

“He found me,” Lord Stone explained in a rush. “In the first week of October, last year. He explained that he was the heir to the dukedom, but that he hated you and didn’t feel like waiting around for you to die.”

Rose felt Ian’s hand go clammy and stiff in hers, and she glanced up at him. His face was pale and shocked, betrayal written all over it. She wanted to do something to soothe him - anything - but Lord Stone wasn’t done. 

“He said he had a plan.”

“What was his plan?” Ian asked, sounding a little strangled. 

“He told me that he intended to have you killed and make it look like an accident. He talked about renovations to your home and how easy it would be to stage some sort of construction accident. He claimed to have a man on the inside.”

Rose’s mind was spinning, but she asked, “Why did he contact you?”

“He wanted to know if I wanted to be a part of his plan. He - he said that with the Duke dead, you’d become his ward. If I helped him, he promised that I could marry you when you were widowed.”

Although she’d expected something like this, she was still absolutely stunned to hear it, with no idea what to say. Her mouth opened and closed rapidly, although no sound escaped, while she tried to come up with something. 

“What was your role in it?” Ian asked, his voice tight. Rose squeezed his hand. 

“I was to pay for Saxon’s man to carry out the murder.”

“Did you?”

“I gave Saxon five thousand pounds and agreed to hide Bailey if he ever needed to leave Glasgow. Saxon left, saying he’d be in touch.”

Five thousand pounds for her husband’s life. Rose had a feeling if she weren’t so shocked, she’d be absolutely beside herself in anger. Lord Stone had used some of the money that he’d stolen from her to attempt to have Ian killed! There weren’t words bad enough to describe what he was.

“When did you hear from Saxon again?” Ian asked. 

“In December. He said that the orchestrated accident had failed, but he had another plan. He advised me to be patient.”

“Did he tell you that I wasn’t even home during the incident with the couch? Rose was the one injured, not me.”

Lord Stone gritted his teeth a little. “No. I didn’t find that out until later.”

The room was silent for a long moment, until Rose couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “And then what happened?”

“The next thing I knew, in mid-January, I was getting a letter that Bailey had to get out of Glasgow, and I needed to get him set up with a new life in London. A few weeks later, Bailey showed up at my door, requesting a job. I put him to work, no questions asked. I assumed he’d managed to kill His Grace, and I was just waiting to hear from the new Duke of Gallifrey to collect my reward.” 

Rose chafed at being referred to as a reward, but didn’t say anything.

“But then I started to hear rumors from acquaintances in Glasgow.”

“What rumors?”

“That Ro - Her Grace had been shot and then poisoned in the same week. I couldn’t believe it at first - he’d told me he was after the Duke!”

“And that somehow made it better!?” Rose snapped. Ian squeezed her hand to shush her. 

“What did you do with that knowledge?” Ian asked, his voice measured. 

“I didn’t want to believe it. I wrote to Saxon, demanding answers, but got no reply. I wrote again, but nothing. Meanwhile, I’d heard no more rumors about Her Grace being hurt. I assumed, given his silence and the relative quiet, that he’d given up on the plan for one reason or another. Then Bailey requested time off to travel to Glasgow. He said he had business to settle there. I was more than a little afraid of him, knowing what he’d done, so I let him go. He returned two weeks later - a very short trip. A week after that, I received a letter from a friend stating that Her Grace had been the victim of another attack, a shooting. I called Bailey into my office at once, like I should have done months before. I demanded that he tell me everything. He reported that you weren’t the intended target, Your Grace. It was always Rose.” No one corrected him about the use of Rose’s name, apparently too shocked, and he went on. “He said Saxon had ordered him to kill the duchess, and if he could manage to kill you as well, to do so. But the primary target was Rose.”

She and Ian both gaped at him, and Rose was at a loss for words. Finally, she managed, “But...why?”

“I don’t know. It seems that if he’d wanted to inherit, like he said, he’d just have killed the Duke. I don’t know what his thinking was.”

The room lapsed into silence again, everyone immersed in their own thoughts. The sound of the clock ticking marked time, but no one spoke. Finally, Ian asked, “Why are you here?”

“Rose was in danger. I had to come and warn you. He won’t stop, he’ll never stop until she’s dead.”

She could feel Ian’s hand clench around hers. “After you paid to have me killed, you come here now to save her?”

“I didn’t know she was the target!” he protested. “I thought she’d be safe, and then I could marry her after you died!”

“And inherit my money while you were at it,” Ian snarled. “As if it weren’t enough that you robbed her of one inheritance, now you’d rob her of a second one?”

“That’s not why! I love her!”

“You love her so much you left her penniless when her parents died?” Ian scoffed. 

“I only wanted her to marry me! She could have had any man she wanted, she’s so beautiful and lovely, and I knew as soon as she was on the marriage mart, someone would snatch her up right away. So I created a situation that I thought would force her to marry me. She could have had every dime of it back. I didn’t care about the money - I _don’t_ care about the money! I just wanted Rose for my wife!”

“Why would I want to marry someone who stole everything from me?” Rose asked, incredulous. “Did you even think this through?”

“I figured if I could only get you to marry me, I’d be able to make you love me eventually. I had only the purest of intentions…”

“Having my husband murdered is your idea of ‘pure intentions’?” Rose demanded. Lord Stone looked sheepish. Absolutely livid, Rose drew herself up to her full height. “You listen to me and you listen well, James Stone. There is no way on this earth - or any other - that I’d _ever_ marry you. I’m blissfully happy with the husband I have, and if he died tomorrow, I’d never marry again. I certainly wouldn’t give you the time of day! Do you understand me?”

He nodded miserably. “Yes.”

“Good. Now get out of my house. I never want --”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Ian stopped her. “He’s committed several crimes, and he’s a witness to several more. We need to keep him here.”

Rose felt a shudder at the idea of Lord Stone being under the same roof as her, but Ian was right. She nodded to him. 

Ian turned to Lord Stone. “Where is Bailey now?”

“In London. I can give you his address.”

“Does he know why you were coming to Scotland?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone. I just said that it was a business trip.”

“Good. Strax! Nardole!” Ian called, and at once, the two men entered the room. “This is Lord James Stone. Nardole, I believe the two of you have met.”

“We have,” Nardole acknowledged in a dark voice. 

“It seems Lord Stone here has been an integral part of the conspiracy to hurt my wife. He’s just confessed.”

“Shall I send for the magistrate?”

“Send a messenger to the magistrate to borrow a pair of handcuffs and possibly leg chains. But we’ll need Stone to go to Glasgow with us tomorrow to confront my cousin. In the meantime, he stays here. Strax?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Please put Lord Stone in the most secure room we have, farthest away from Her Grace. Lock him in and keep him there. Do not let him leave for any reason.”

Strax’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Your Grace, I implore you to let me --”

Ian held up a hand. “You’re welcome to make him as _un_ comfortable as you like, so long as he is fit to travel and answer questions in the morning.”

Strax clasped his fist in front of himself and stared into the middle distance, his eyes shining and a smile blooming across his face. “My time has come at last.”

“Nardole will see that you don’t get too out of hand.” He turned to a wide-eyed Lord Stone. “Sleep well tonight, if Strax will let you. Tomorrow, we travel to Glasgow. Your life as you have known it is over.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, to the readers - thank you guys _so much_ for everything. Every single hit, every single kudo, and every single comment makes me feel wonderful. This story was way outside of my comfort zone, and there were many times I would just stare at the screen and wonder what the hell I was doing - but you guys kept me going. I appreciate every one of you so, so much. 
> 
> To Rose--Nebula and RishiDiams - Thank you ladies for being my sounding board and holding my hand so frequently. My favorite thing to do in the entire world is brainstorm with you guys. You inspire me and help me grow. You make writing fun. I love you both. Gertrude - I hope your birthday was wonderful (three months ago), and I hope you enjoyed your present! It was my honor to write it. 
> 
> To Tenroseforeverandever - Thank you (once again) for the magnificent beta work. You're the best beta in the fic business and I'm beyond thrilled to work with you. Can't wait to get started on the next story!! <3 
> 
> And now that I'm done grandstanding and getting on everyone's nerves... the conclusion to A Series of Little Kindnesses.

31 May 1824

After the confrontation in his study with Lord Stone, Ian had made absolutely sure the young lord was securely locked in the room farthest away from his and Rose’s, then he took his wife to bed. They didn’t talk much once they were alone, and Ian imagined they were both stewing in their own thoughts. God knew he was. 

To her very great credit, Rose did not comment on Lord Stone’s accusations towards his cousin, or the way she’d tried to warn him about Saxon. Ian was tremendously grateful for her deference, even as he was a little surprised by it. Anyone else he knew would have been unable to resist a little gloating about how they’d been right all along, but not Rose. She was just too good. 

They held each other in near-total silence for hours, Rose wrapped in Ian’s arms, where he could be assured of her safety. He stroked her back absently, staring into space while his thoughts chased each other around like like weasels. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. Just her presence, her soft breaths against his chest, were soothing. She finally drifted to sleep around midnight, but he was unable to follow her into slumber. Not with everything he’d learned a few hours before, and not with Lord Stone locked in one of his guest rooms. Ian just lay there, holding his sleeping wife, trying to make sense of everything he’d learned. 

He was still awake a few short hours later when Clara came in just before dawn to wake him and Rose. He’d given her the order the night before to pack for a trip to Glasgow, and he wanted to leave within the hour, if possible. Nardole was busy guarding their unwelcome houseguest, so he had a footman bring up a trunk and he packed his own clothes as best he could. Rose tried engaging him in conversation as he worked, but he wasn’t entirely up for it. His answers were somewhat terse and completely uncharacteristic of his relationship with her, but if she was hurt by his preoccupied state, she didn’t let on. She just supervised packing and prepared herself for the journey. 

Breakfast was equally quiet while the servants readied the coaches. Rose ordered that a tray be taken to Lord Stone, and as much as Ian resented the idea of extending any kindness at all to that bastard, it warmed his heart that Rose was was such a genuinely good person. She was a better person than he’d ever be, and he wanted to tell her how much he adored her and loved every little thing about her, but words weren’t at his command. So he simply covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. Rose, bless her, seemed to understand what he couldn’t say and squeezed his hand back with a small smile. 

Ian’s eyes were hard when he watched the younger man walk by him and Rose on the way to the second coach, which would carry him to Glasgow. He was flanked by Nardole, who looked grim, and Strax, who appeared delighted with his temporary job as bailiff. Lord Stone only looked slightly worse for wear, but Ian couldn’t be bothered if he were a little battered. He stared at the prisoner with cold fury burning within him. When Lord Stone dared give Rose a plaintive look, Ian tugged her closer to him and just barely refrained from snarling. The prisoner merely hung his head and allowed himself to be led to the waiting coach, then bundled in. 

Ian, Rose, and Clara got into the ducal coach and the journey to Glasgow began. He couldn’t help but be reminded of another time he’d shared a coach with Rose and her maid on the way to Glasgow, and like on that trip, he was dreading whatever he was about to walk into when he reached town. But this time, Rose and Clara didn’t provide much of a distraction. Rose bundled into his side, nearly silent, and he took comfort from her proximity. Knowing she was close by and safe was all that was keeping him together at the moment, and she seemed to sense that. Frequently, she’d pat his leg reassuringly, or even plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. He squeezed her a little in gratitude and absently kissed her hair, but didn’t comment. His nerves were a riot he was barely keeping a lid on, and a tight-lipped smile was all he was able to muster for her. His empathetic sweetheart seemed to sense that and didn’t push for more. 

Finally, after what felt like eons but was really a shorter trip than usual, they arrived at Smithwood Manor in Glasgow. The magistrate had been summoned and was waiting when they arrived. Ian explained the situation to him with Rose by his side. Once he said his piece, the magistrate interviewed Lord Stone, getting his story and information. A plan was quickly formed, and Ian sent the necessary message, summoning his cousin to Smithwood Manor. He and Rose sat down to eat lunch, and although the food was delicious as always, he had no appetite. Rose didn’t comment, just picked at her own food.

Ian had quite the spirited debate with himself about what to do with Rose during the confrontation with Saxon. On one hand, he didn’t want his pregnant wife anywhere near the man who had attempted to orchestrate her murder. On the other hand, the thought of her being out of his sight for even a minute was nearly unbearable. In his current mental state, he didn’t even entirely trust Nardole to keep her safe. Besides, Nardole had another job - keeping Lord Stone quiet and out of sight until the moment presented itself. The decision about Rose was wrenching and Ian was completely torn until she slipped her hand into his, drawing his eyes to herself. 

“You need to do this alone,” she said. “I’ll just be on the other side of that door, yeah? With Nardole and Strax.”

“And Lord Stone,” he pointed out. 

“He won’t get near me. Nardole and Strax won’t allow it. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He gave her an almost desperate look, wanting to say so much, but all he could get out was her name. It was a plea. “Rose…”

She took his hand into hers and squeezed it, then went on her tiptoes to kiss him. “It’s almost over, Ian. And when this is finished, we can begin our happily ever after - the one you promised. You, me, and the baby. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nearly croaked. “I love you, sweetheart.”

She smiled up at him. “I love you, too. I’ll be just on the other side of that door.”

Colin appeared at the doorway, announcing the arrival of the Baron of Oakdown. Rose squeezed Ian’s hand one last time, then scurried from the study into the adjoining room, where she waited with the magistrate, Nardole, Strax, and Lord Stone. Once she was gone, he stared at the door she’d exited through, left slightly ajar, until he shook himself out out of his thoughts. 

It was showtime. 

Saxon strode into Ian’s study as if he owned the place, his shoulders back and head up, all smiles and grand motions. His mere presence made Ian’s blood boil, but he tamped down his anger as best he could. 

“Ian!” Harold exclaimed. “I was surprised to get a summons from you. Had no idea you were back in town. When did you arrive?”

“Just a short while ago,” Ian said calmly. “We were at Gallifrey this morning.”

“So what brings you to town?”

“Quite a lot, actually. We hadn’t been to town since January and all that unpleasantness. It was past time for a visit - particularly since we haven’t yet seen Donna’s baby.”

“Ah, yes, the little bundle of joy,” Saxon said with all the warmth of a sea snake. “I hear it’s a girl?”

“Yes, a little girl named Ella. So congratulations to you, your position as my heir remains intact - at the moment.”

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “At the moment?”

“Yes. You see, I find myself awaiting fatherhood. Rose and I are expecting our firstborn this autumn.”

A muscle in Saxon’s jaw twitched. “Well, I certainly wish you all the felicitations I can muster, if you’re happy.”

It was Ian’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Harold looked to be considering something for a moment, then leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I think there’s something you should know, Ian.”

Ian took a long swallow of his scotch, bracing himself for whatever came next. “What’s that?”

“I went to London just after you were married. Did some asking around about your new wife. It just seemed so… unlikely.”

“What seemed unlikely to you?”

“That you would marry some untitled girl you’d only just met. Even if she were beautiful - and she is, don’t get me wrong - it didn’t make any sense. So I did some investigating. The woman you married… she’s not what she seems to be.”

Ian swallowed. “Are you saying she misrepresented herself?”

“Almost certainly,” Harold agreed with a nod. “I doubt very seriously you’d have anything to do with her at all if she’d told you the truths I learned.”

His blood was simmering, but he mastered himself. “What truths are those?”

Saxon looked to be relishing what he was about to say, which infuriated Ian even more. Still, he kept his calm. 

“The girl had quite the reputation around London. Are you aware that her father was a tradesman?”

“I am,” Ian confirmed. 

Harold scoffed. “And you married her anyway.”

“Her grandfather was the Earl of Prentice. And even if he hadn’t been, I’d have married her.”

His cousin gave him a pitying look and clicked his tongue condescendingly. “Poor Ian. She’s really taken you for a ride, hasn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I _mean_ that your bride is not what she presents herself to be. The man she claimed to run away from? Lord Stowe or something like that? I spoke with him at length. He claimed to have a close, _intimate_ relationship with her. She’d run to him just after the death of her father - who was near penniless, by the way - seeking a soft place to land once she’d squandered her father’s meager funds. Of course, he wasn’t going to turn down what the girl was offering so freely, but then she told him she was in the family way. He says he was required to travel to France in an attempt to save her father’s failing business, but told her when he returned, they’d marry to save what was left of her poor reputation. When he arrived back in London, she was nowhere to be found, and just a day or so later, he was told that you’d proposed and were scheduled to marry her. He’d never been so relieved in his life.”

“I can disprove that as the lie it is very easily - my wife was a virgin when we married.”

Saxon snorted. “Come now, Ian. Don’t be so naive. Women have been faking virginity for centuries. A few tears at the right moment, little vial of blood, and voila! She’s pure again.”

Ian was furious, in some realm well beyond angry, that his cousin would dare besmirch the good name of his wife. He believed absolutely none of what he’d just been told, and all he wanted was to lash out at the smug bastard he’d once considered a friend sitting across from him. But he couldn’t.

“What then of the child she supposedly carried?” he demanded. “If she were increasing when she met me, she’d have delivered by now. What happened to the babe?”

Harold shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Probably got rid of it or something. How am I to know? The point is, you have no business being mixed up with a woman like that. Can you even be sure the child she carries now is yours, Ian? To my mind, it’s highly doubtful that a woman of such loose morals before marriage would settle down and be faithful after she speaks her vows. There’s no telling how many men she’s fucked since she snared you. She got what she came for - the money and the title. Why should she remain faithful?”

Ian was fairly shaking with suppressed rage. “Just because that’s the way you operate, do not presume that my wife would be such a… such a…”

“It’s not presumption. Have you ever wondered why it is she detests me so? I’ll tell you exactly why. The day after your wedding - the _very day_ after she pledged herself to you - she attempted to seduce me. Me! Your own cousin, and in your home! She claimed to have been … _dissatisfied_ the night before and suddenly unhappy with the choice she’d made. She proposed an arrangement in which she and I would both be well pleased, if you take my meaning. I turned her down, of course. And that’s why she hates me.”

“You’re a liar,” Ian growled. “She did no such thing.”

Harold shrugged again. “You’re free to think so, of course, but I know better. The girl is little better than a chav, and fancy clothes and a title won’t turn a slag into a princess. But buck up, Ian. You’re not the first man to marry poorly.”

“Is that why you paid to have her killed?”

Harold’s face registered shock, but it wasn’t genuine. “Have her killed?” he repeated, sounding disbelieving.

“Yes. A man named John Bailey. He dropped a sofa on her once and shot at her twice. I’m not quite sure how he managed to poison her, or if you did that yourself, but there have been four attempts on her life and I know you’re behind them. You’ve been trying to kill my wife to get at the title. Why her and not me?”

His cousin laughed, a mocking sound which held no mirth. “Oh, oh my, she must have done much more of a number on you than I imagined, if she has you believing something as ludicrous as that. Me? Have her murdered?” He laughed again. 

Having heard enough, Ian called out. “You can come out now, Lord Stone.”

The door to the adjourning room swung open and Lord Stone was led in, handcuffed and flanked by Nardole and Strax. The magistrate followed just behind them, then Rose scurried in, coming quickly towards Ian. He spared her enough of a glance to see that her eyes and nose were red, but she looked resolute. Silently, Ian took her hand into his and laced their fingers. 

Harold’s laughter had stopped when he saw Lord Stone, his face losing all color. For his part, Lord Stone was showing more fire than Ian had seen from him thus far. He snarled at Saxon, “You lied to me, you bastard.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You told me I was paying to have Rose’s husband killed. You promised she’d remain safe. You swore to me, Saxon!”

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” Harold protested.

“Is that so?” Ian asked in a taunting tone. “Because you just told me, in front of these witnesses behind that door, that you met Lord Stone and spoke with him at length about my wife. You said that he claimed to have been intimate with her and gotten her in the family way. Did that happen, Lord Stone?”

“I never touched Rose, and I never told this scumbag that I had!”

Harold looked caught out. “That was… that was…”

“It was a lie,” Ian spat. “Just like everything else you said. You may have met him, and you may have even discussed my wife, but he claims to have never said any of those things to you. And given that Lord Stone here traveled to Scotland to throw himself at my mercy, I daresay his version of events is more accurate. You tried to seize the duchy by having me and my wife killed.”

“I didn’t!”

“Donna was right about you all along. You’re nothing more than a snake in the grass, the lowest of the low. And I trusted you!”

“Ian, cousin, listen…”

“No, _you_ listen. Your life as you knew it is over. You will be stripped of your title and your lands, as will Lord Stone, your conspirator. Those will go to Rose, the woman you tried to kill and the woman Lord Stone robbed.”

“You can’t do that! You don’t have the power!”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think that the King, upon hearing of this plot, is going to let you keep your lands or title? You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t turn Lucy out into the street after you’re hanged.”

Rose squeezed his hand and tugged. He looked down at her, but didn’t quite understand the look she was giving him. 

“So you’ll just give them to that whore?” Saxon raged, spitting at Rose and regaining Ian’s attention. “This harlot, this untitled bint you picked up somewhere? I won’t let you!” 

Saxon charged at Rose, who barely had time to flinch before Ian pulled her behind him safely. Nardole and Strax caught Saxon before he could get close to Rose and subdued him quickly, although he still ranted. “I knew I didn’t put enough poison on your skin at Hogmanay, you uppity bitch! I should have made absolutely sure you died!”

“Are you hearing that, magistrate?” 

“Yes, Your Grace. I think I’ve heard enough. Gentlemen, if you would escort the prisoners to the coach waiting outside.”

Lord Stone left the room meekly, with his head down, but Harold was fighting against Nardole and Strax. “You think you’ve won, Ian. You think you’re so clever because you’ve got the title and the money and the lands. But you’re also stuck with this unfaithful bitch and the bastard child she carries! So who’s _really_ won?”

“I have,” he said calmly. “Clearly.”

That whipped Saxon into more of a frenzy. “You haven’t heard the last of me, do you hear? You’ll never be rid of me. I’ll make your life hell from beyond the grave, I swear it!”

“Given that your every word is a lie, I see no reason to be concerned that you’re telling the truth now,” Ian told him, his face impassive, his voice droll. “Goodbye, Harold.”

Nardole and Strax frogmarched him from the room as he kicked and shouted in the most undignified way, his face screwed up in rage and nearly purple. Ian and Rose stood in the study, hands adjoined, staring at the now-empty doorway while the sounds of his cousin’s ranting faded away. 

When they could no longer hear him, the magistrate turned to Ian and Rose. “Lord Stone gave me the whereabouts of John Bailey, and we have already dispatched men to London to apprehend him. I expect he’ll be arrested within the week. He’ll be transported here, to Glasgow, at once, and the three men will stand trial together for conspiracy and four counts of attempted murder each. With the evidence I’ve just heard, it’s certain to be a very short trial. The three conspirators will be put to death within the next two months, Your Grace.”

Rose squeezed his hand again and tugged his arm. He looked down at her again, and her eyes were pleading with him - the same look she’d had earlier. Now he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. He felt his shoulders sag a little and said, “Sweetheart…”

“Don’t, Ian. You can stop this.”

“Rose, think of what they did to you. To us.”

“I know. But no matter what they are, do you really want their blood on your hands?” He stared down at her, helpless, and she hugged his arm a little. “Don’t do it, Ian. Save them. It’s not worth your soul.”

Ian hung his head a little, his wrath defeated by his wife’s better nature. He sighed, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. Raising his head to look at the magistrate, he said, “My wife and I would prefer that these men not be hanged.”

“Shall we ship them to Australia instead?” the magistrate asked. 

Ian looked down at Rose, who nodded. He nodded back and raised his head to face the magistrate. “Yes,” he said. “Have them shipped to Australia, never to return. I’ll pay passage for their wives to go, too, if they choose to do so. That should put them far enough away that we can live in peace.”

The magistrate nodded, then bowed. “Very well, Your Grace. We’ll be in touch.” He turned and left, leaving Ian and Rose alone. 

Without hesitating, he turned and pulled Rose into his arms, cradling her close. He swayed her in place, taking comfort from her warmth and nearness, and felt himself relax for the first time in months. 

“It’s over, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all over.”

She nodded against him, but didn’t answer straight away. He didn’t press her, but after a moment, he felt her shoulders shaking in his arms. Ian held her a little tighter and stroked her back. 

“They’re gone,” he soothed her. “They’ll never bother you again, Rose.”

“I know,” she snuffled. “I was just thinking of all the things he said about me. It was all lies, Ian, every bit of it.”

He pulled her back from his chest and tipped her chin up to look at him. “I never believed a single word of it, sweetheart. Not one word. I know you love me, that you came to our marriage pure of heart and of body, and that the babe you carry is my son.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I think you mean daughter.”

“I said what I meant,” he told her with twinkling eyes. “I love you, Rose Docherty.”

“I love you, too,” she answered.

He dipped his head and kissed her lightly. “Good. And now I get to give you a happily ever after - like in your fairy tales.”

Rose grinned up at him. “I look forward to that.” Her smile fell. “But I still don’t understand why he was after _me_.”

“Who could ever understand the machinations of a madman? We’ll probably never know, sweetheart, and honestly, I don’t care. Just so long as he never comes near us again.”

“Agreed.”

Ian kissed her again. “Now, what do you say we clean ourselves up a little, then have Donna, Lee, and little Ella over for dinner? We could invite Fergus and Osgood, too, if you’d like, and share with everyone both bits of good news.”

“Both bits?”

“That the danger to you has passed, and that we’re going to have a baby.”

She smiled. “That sounds like an outstanding idea.”

“And while they’re here, I’ll eat a little humble pie.”

“How so?”

“Donna was right about Saxon all along. Come to think of it, you were, too.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she’ll be gloating about that…”

Ian smirked. “You just don’t know my sister as well as I do. If she doesn’t crow about being right tonight, she’ll get around to it eventually. But now that everything is out on the table, do you want to tell me what lie he told you that made you distrust him so?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not yet. I think I’ll tell you when he’s safely in Australia and you can’t change your mind about having him hanged.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

“You’re not going to be pleased. Just trust me on this one, yeah?”

He kissed her forehead lightly. “As you wish. Let’s send messengers to the Fitzgeralds and the McAvoys, then retire for a couple of hours. I feel the need to hold my wife close, safe in my arms, and tell her how much I love her.”

Rose smiled up at him. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short epilogue that will go up Thursday morning. Thanks again!!


	36. Epilogue

16 June 1827

“Be still,” Clara admonished Rose with pins in her mouth as she jabbed one into her hair. “Honestly. You’re squirming more than Sarah when I plait her hair.”

“It’s not me,” Rose protested. “It feels like this baby is dancing on my bladder.”

“You have to go _again_?” Clara exclaimed incredulously. “Are you _sure_ you’re not having twins again?”

“Bite your tongue, Clara Pink,” Rose snapped. “A loving God wouldn’t give me two sets of twins three years apart.”

Clara chuckled and Rose tried not to squirm. The baby in her belly had no such qualms and rolled, making Rose’s urge to go a little stronger for just a moment, then it eased. She was grateful - Clara only had a little more to do to get her ready, then she could relieve herself before she went to her portrait sitting.

“I don’t know why Ian is insisting on having this portrait painted right _now_ ,” she grumped. “I look like a cow.”

“You do not,” Clara replied with rolled eyes.

“I do!” Rose insisted. “I always look horrid late in my term, and I’m nearly eight months along now.”

“Your belly won’t show,” the maid soothed her. “It’s not a full-body painting.”

“I know that, but my face is fat,” she complained. “Honestly, I look a fright. Why he’d want to immortalize me when I look like this…”

“Because you look stunning,” Ian said from the other side of the room, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed and one corner of his mouth quirked. “You always do, no matter what, but there’s just something about you when you’re increasing. Absolutely lovely.”

Rose’s face spread into a smile at the sight of him in the mirror, just as it always did. She loved him so very, very much, and that love only seemed to grow stronger through the years. 

Clara snorted, still pinning Rose’s hair. “You’d have to think she’s lovely when she’s increasing,” she muttered, “since you keep her in that state so frequently.”

Rose flushed and swatted at her unrepentant maid. She hoped Ian didn’t hear, but the wide grin on his face told her he did. The barriers of propriety had fallen long ago in the privacy of Ian and Rose’s chambers, and Clara was pretty much at liberty to say anything that sprung to mind. More often than not, Ian found her commentary amusing, and frequently bantered with her. 

“Now, Clara,” he started, coming across the bedroom with a lopsided smirk, “I’ll have you know I’m hardly to blame - at least, not totally. My lovely wife is the instigator as often as I am.”

Clara pretended to tut. “We’ll have to put her in her own bedroom, if you won’t let her rest. Three pregnancies in three years…”

“Wouldn’t stop us from being together,” Ian predicted confidently. “Would it, sweetheart? Besides, the Duchess’ suite was converted into a nursery before the twins were born so we’d have the babies close at hand. I’m afraid poor Rose is stuck with me and my amorous ways.”

“Stuck with you? S’not so bad,” Rose teased with her tongue touching her teeth. Ian finally reached her and lay his hands on her upper arms gently, looking at her with a loving expression in the mirror. Clara placed the last pin in Rose’s hair and stepped away. As soon as she was gone, Ian’s smirk grew, then he bent to kiss the bare skin of Rose’s shoulder, exposed by her low neckline.

“You’d better behave,” she warned in a playful tone. “Or else you won’t get the portrait you want.”

He pressed a kiss against her neck and dragged his lips up to her ear, murmuring “Yes, Your Grace,” when he got there, making Rose shiver.

Doing her best to keep from dragging him to the bed and having her way with him, she asked, “How are my babies? When I came up after luncheon, you were taking them outside with Vastra and Jenny.”

“All asleep,” he assured her. “Pete and Sarah had a marvelous time chasing butterflies and running laps in the garden. Little Andrew toddled along behind them, laughing at their antics. That is, when he wasn’t putting dirt or flowers in his mouth. The fresh air tuckered them out, and each of us were carrying a sleeping child when we came inside.”

She sighed and stroked her swollen belly. “Maybe in a couple of months, I’ll be able to play with them like that again. Hopefully I’ll have some time to take them out to play before the first snows come and we’re all shut inside.”

Clara snorted, coming over with the necklace Rose was to wear for the portrait. “If past is prologue, he’ll have you in the family way again before this new baby is sitting up on its own.”

Rose gave her maid a disgruntled look, but Ian chuckled. “She’s not wrong…”

“You know,” Rose said as she got to her feet, turning to Ian. “When you said you wouldn’t mind enough children to fill both houses, I thought that was an exaggeration. I certainly didn’t think you’d be giving them to me two at a time.”

He smirked and slipped one arm around her waist, the other hand caressing her distended belly. “And when I told you I had no intention of stopping the activity that creates babies, did you not believe me?”

She grinned, sliding her arms around his neck. “I certainly hoped you were serious.”

Ian bumped his nose against hers, his voice dropping. “What about when I promised you a fairy tale ending? Did you believe me then?”

Rose rolled up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his while their fourth child kicked in her belly. “I did, and you’ve already delivered. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again - thank you so much!!! <3


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